The birth of our daughter, Sarah, was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life. Instead, it turned into a nightmare I never saw coming.
Five weeks ago, as I cradled our newborn in the hospital, I noticed my husband, Alex, staring at her with an expression I couldn’t quite place. When he hesitated and muttered, “You’re sure?” I felt my world tilt.
“Sure about what?” I asked, confused.
He glanced at Sarah and back at me, avoiding my eyes. “That she’s… mine.”
His words hit me like a slap. I searched his face, hoping for a hint of the man I thought I knew, but all I saw was doubt. He gestured toward Sarah’s pale blue eyes and blonde hair. “She doesn’t look like us. We both have brown hair and eyes.”
I tried to explain how babies’ features often change, how genetics can sometimes be unpredictable, but Alex wasn’t convinced. His suspicion only deepened, and then he said the words I never thought I’d hear from my husband.
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