After our son was born, I asked for a paternity test. My wife gave a faint, nervous smirk and asked, “And what if he’s not?” I replied coldly, “Then I’ll divorce you. I won’t raise another man’s child.” When the results came in, they confirmed my worst fear — the child wasn’t mine. I filed for divorce, disowned my son, and walked away without looking back.
Three years later, fate caught up with me. I ran into an old family friend who looked at me with quiet disappointment. He asked why I had left my wife and child so suddenly, and when I explained, his expression turned to sorrow. He told me something I wasn’t ready to hear — my wife hadn’t cheated. That smirk I misread as arrogance had been shock and fear. The test, he said, might have been wrong.
