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When my wife gave birth, I asked for a DNA test — just to be sure.
She smirked: “And what if it isn’t yours?”
I said, “Then I’m gone.”
The test confirmed my worst fear — I wasn’t the father.
I walked away, heart numb. 3 years later, to my horror, I found out.
Three years later, I ran into an old family friend who looked at me with disappointment. He quietly asked why I had left my wife and child so suddenly. When I explained, his face fell. He told me something I never expected — my wife had been hurt by my suspicion, and that smirk I saw wasn’t arrogance, but shock and fear. She hadn’t cheated. Instead, she had trusted that our bond was strong enough to weather doubt. But when the test came back wrong — a rare lab error, he said — her heart shattered for good.
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