You used… my sample?
She nodded through tears. “It was the last one. They said it was viable.”
I sat beside her, shaking. “You’re saying Noah’s mine?”
“He’s ours,” she muttered. “He always was.”
I looked back at my phone. The email still sat open, glaring at me. Then I saw the fine print at the bottom: Results may be inaccurate if samples are contaminated or improperly collected.
The pacifier. The plastic bag. My trembling hands.
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