I deserved every one of them.
Several hours later, both babies were born healthy.
Lauren gave birth to a baby boy.
Ava delivered a baby girl.
For a brief moment, I felt relief.
The babies were safe.
Everyone was safe.
Maybe the worst was over.
Maybe exposure was my punishment.
Maybe I’d spend years rebuilding what I’d destroyed.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The following morning, a doctor approached me in the waiting room.
“Ryan, we’d like to discuss something.”
Immediately, my stomach tightened.
“Are the babies okay?”
“Both babies are healthy,” he replied. “However, there are some medical questions we’d like to clarify.”
A few minutes later, I was sitting in a private office.
The doctor folded his hands.
“We recommend paternity testing.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Certain blood markers raised questions we’d like to verify.”
I almost laughed.
Of all the things happening in my life, paternity wasn’t one of my concerns.
I had no doubt.
Both babies were mine.
Without hesitation, I agreed.
The tests were performed that afternoon.
Three days later, the first result arrived.
And the moment I read it, everything changed.
Lauren’s baby was biologically mine.
Relief crashed over me so powerfully I nearly cried.
My son.
For the first time since the hospital disaster, I felt hope.
Maybe Lauren and I could still fix this.
Maybe we could still be a family.
The moment I learned Lauren’s baby was mine, I felt something I hadn’t felt in months.
Relief.
Pure relief.
For days, I’d been drowning in guilt, panic, and humiliation.
Now I had something solid to hold onto.
My son.
Nobody could take that away.
I walked straight to Lauren’s room.
She was sitting upright in bed, holding the baby against her chest.
For a moment, I simply stared.
He was beautiful.
Tiny.
Perfect.
And mine.
Lauren looked up.
The warmth that used to exist between us was gone.
“What do you want?” she asked quietly.
I stepped closer.
“The results came back.”
“I know.”
I smiled weakly.
“He’s mine.”
Lauren didn’t react.
“He is.”
I pulled a chair closer.
“Lauren, maybe we can still figure this out.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What?”
I leaned forward.
“I made mistakes.”
“Mistakes?” she repeated.
“I screwed up. I know I did. But we have a son now.”
She stared at me as if she didn’t recognize me.
“Ryan, are you serious?”
“We can go to counseling,” I said. “We can rebuild.”
The more I spoke, the more hopeful I became.
“We can be a family.”
Lauren let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“You slept with another woman for nearly a year,” she said.
“I know.”
“You lied every day.”
“I know.”
“You abandoned me while I was in labor.”
I lowered my eyes.
Then she delivered the sentence that hit hardest.
“And now that you know the baby is biologically yours, suddenly you want your marriage back.”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because she was right.
Part of me had immediately started clinging to the idea that this could still be fixed.
That biology somehow changed everything.
Lauren shook her head.
Before I could answer, a knock came at the door.
A doctor entered.
His expression was serious.
“We’ve received the second result.”
My stomach tightened.
Ava.
The doctor looked directly at me.
“Would you like to know here, or would you like to step outside?”
“Here is fine,” Lauren answered. I nodded.
“You are not the biological father of Ava’s child.”
The room went silent.
Then anger exploded inside me.
“What?”
“The test is conclusive.”
I stood so quickly that my chair nearly fell over.
“That’s impossible.”
“It is not,” the doctor said calmly.
I stormed out of the room and headed straight for Ava’s.
She looked exhausted.
The baby girl was sleeping in a bassinet beside her bed.
The moment she saw my face, she knew something was wrong.
“What happened?”
I held up the paperwork.
“This happened.”
Her eyes scanned the results.
Then her face went pale.
“No.”
“She’s not mine.”
Ava looked stunned.
“No. That’s impossible.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know!”
I laughed bitterly.
“You don’t know?”
“I thought it was you!”
“Thought?”
For the first time, uncertainty appeared in her eyes.
Real uncertainty.
Then a memory seemed to hit her.
Something she’d buried.
Something she’d refused to think about.
“Oh my God.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Ava covered her mouth.
Before she could answer, another voice came from the doorway.
Lauren.
She stood there holding our son.
She looked tired, but stronger than I’d ever seen her.
She looked at Ava.
Then at me.
Finally, she said the words that changed everything.
“Ryan couldn’t have been the father.”
Both of us stared at her.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded.
Lauren’s face hardened.
“The fertility clinic.”
Ava frowned.
“What fertility clinic?”
Lauren looked directly at me.
“The one that told us years ago that your fertility was severely impaired.”
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
“What?”
“The doctors told us natural conception was extremely unlikely.”
