My husband took a DNA test and found out he was not the father. I took one too, and the truth was even worse

When my husband did a DNA test and discovered that he was not the father of our son, our world was devastated. But I was positive I had not betrayed him. I took a test, too, expecting to prove my innocence; instead, I discovered a truth far more horrifying than either of us could have anticipated.

You may spend years building trust, only for it to crumble in a single day, and you’d have no idea how. That’s exactly what happened to me, but let me start at the beginning.

Paul and I had been together for fifteen years, eight of which we were married. I knew he was my person from the moment we met at a college party when we were both twenty.

We grew up side by side, created our lives together, and I was pleased that fate had brought us together.

But the true delight arrived when our son, Austin, was born. The instant I held him in my arms for the first time, I was overcome with a wave of love and happiness that I knew I would never forget.

Paul cried when he first saw Austin. He said that was the happiest moment of his life. Paul developed into an incredible father. He never stated I had to manage everything because I was the mother.

No, he realized he was just as much of a parent as I was, and he immersed himself in raising our baby. He never said he was “helping” me. It was never help; it was always equal parenting.

My mother-in-law, Vanessa, on the other hand, enjoyed pointing out how different Austin looked from Paul. Paul had dark features, but Austin had been blond from birth. But I never had to defend myself; Paul always silenced her.

“Austin only looks after Mary’s side of the family,” Paul continued saying.

However, Vanessa refused to drop it. Austin was almost four when she arrived at our house and requested that Paul take a DNA test. “I’m not doing that,” Paul said firmly. “I’m sure Austin is my son.”

“And how would you know who she’s been messing around with?” Vanessa snapped.

“Please don’t talk about me in the third person when I’m literally sitting right here,” I complained.

“I understand Austin isn’t Paul’s. In our family, all sons resemble their fathers. Therefore, it would be appreciated if you could clarify who the real father is before Paul proceeds with the test,” Vanessa said firmly.

“We have been together for 15 years! What are you talking about?” I shouted.

“You’ve never seemed like a devoted wife. Vanessa claimed, “I’ve told Paul that since the beginning.”

“Stop it!” Paul yelled. “I am not taking any tests. I trust my wife, and she has never cheated on me.”

“Then why not just take the test?” Vanessa challenged him.

“That’s the kind of behavior that undermines trust.” We are no longer discussing this. “End of discussion,” Paul said with finality.

“Okay, have it your way. But one day, you’ll realize I was correct,” Vanessa mumbled.

I rolled my eyes. I just didn’t understand where all of this animosity came from. I had never given her reason to question me. I loved Paul wholeheartedly and would never betray him.

Vanessa left after a few more minutes of playing with Austin, and Paul and I both exhaled with relief. Later that night, I was lying in bed while Paul was in the bathroom preparing to sleep.

“I’m sorry about my mom,” Paul said from the other room. “I don’t know what to do to make her calm down.”

“It’s okay, I’m used to it,” I said.

“I feel bad,” Paul explained. “Did you see my toothbrush?” “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“No, just grab a new one from the drawer.” “Maybe Austin took it,” I said.

The next few weeks were fairly peaceful. Vanessa did not bring up Austin’s paternity or the DNA test again. I began to believe that perhaps Paul had finally reached her and she had let it go.

But one day, when I got home from work, I stepped into the living room to find Paul crying on the couch, with Vanessa close behind him, attempting to soothe him.

My heart sank. Panic struck me instantaneously. My first concern was that something had happened to Austin because I couldn’t find him anywhere.

“Where’s Austin?” I inquired, afraid.

“He’s fine,” Paul said calmly. “I took him to your mom’s.”

“What happened?” I requested again, sitting next to him, and reaching for his hand. But Paul pulled his hand away.

“What happened?” What occurred! “My wife has been lying to me for years!” he exclaimed.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I remarked, frowning.

Then Paul took a sheet of paper from the coffee table and hurled it at me.

I felt compelled to express my frustration at his behavior, but as I glanced down, I found myself momentarily speechless.

It was a DNA test result. For Paul and Austin. The chance of paternity was 0%. I simply sat there, frozen. It felt like a horrible joke.

“What does this even mean?” “You took a test?” I inquired, still staring at the article.

“No, I did,” Vanessa interrupted. “But that isn’t the issue. The issue is the outcome!”

“Paul, this is not correct! She cheated on the test! “I never cheated on you.” I protested.

“That’s what I thought too,” Paul murmured. “But I phoned the laboratory. They confirmed the results.”

“I’m sure she gave them the wrong samples! This cannot be true!” I yelled out.

“But it is,” Vanessa snapped. “And you know it, so stop pretending.”

“No! You despise me so much that you’d pretend anything this serious?!” I yelled, about to lose it.

“There’s nothing false here. I stole Paul’s toothbrush and the spoon Austin was eating with. The samples were real.” The outcome is correct,” Vanessa remarked coldly.

“No, Paul. You need to believe me! Austin is your son. “I have never been unfaithful!” I cried in despair.

“I’ve already packed my luggage. It’s inside the automobile. Paul stood up and said, “I need some time alone, without any of you.

“No, please don’t go,” I begged.

“Do not call me. Do not text me. Paul responded, “I won’t answer,” and walked out the door, Vanessa following him.

I collapsed on the couch, clutching the horrible test results in my hands. I knew it couldn’t be true. I have never cheated. But I didn’t know how to prove it.

A few hours later, I picked up Austin from my mother’s house, but I didn’t mention anything about what had transpired.

I was afraid she might side with Paul, and I couldn’t handle it. That night was hellish.

Austin kept asking where Daddy was and when he was coming back, and I had no idea what to say.

I couldn’t believe Paul had succumbed to Vanessa’s deception so easily. But I couldn’t really blame him. She’d shown him “proof.”

Days passed, and all I could think about was Paul and that stupid test. I kept running over several scenarios in my head, trying to find out how the outcome could be wrong. One conclusion I came to was that the lab might not be reliable.

I decided to take my test. I was certain of one thing: I had given birth to Austin. I sent samples from both myself and Austin to the lab and waited.

A week later, I received an email containing the results. I sat in front of my laptop with shaky hands and opened the attachment.

Maternity probability: 0%.

I knew it! I knew the lab was terrible! That was simply not true. I had labored for sixteen hours and was unquestionably his mother.

I printed out the results and went straight to Vanessa’s place, where I knew Paul was staying.

When I arrived, I rang the doorbell again, impatiently, until Paul opened it.

“Mary, what are you doing here?” “I thought I made it clear I didn’t want to see you right now,” Paul stated coldly.

I held the test results out in front of him. “Look, I also took a test, and it says Austin is not my son,” I told him.

Paul’s attitude shifted from rage to something close to dread. I expected astonishment, perhaps relief, but not terror.

“Do you realize what that means?” he inquired calmly.

“It means that lab is a joke,” I explained.

“That lab is among the best. I took another exam at a different lab. Paul mumbled, “The results were the same.”

“But I didn’t cheat on you!” I shouted.

“I believe you now. But you don’t appear to understand what this means,” Paul explained carefully.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Austin’s not our son,” Paul said.

“No. That is impossible. That could only be true if the hospital had exchanged him for another baby. But that is ridiculous.” That kind of thing doesn’t happen anymore, right?” I asked the question, hoping to laugh it off.

But Paul’s expression was serious. Dead serious. He honestly believed it: the hospital had given us the wrong child.

“I think we need to go to the hospital where you gave birth,” Paul remarked quietly.

We got to the hospital and described the scenario to the nurse at the front desk. She informed us that she would review the files.

I was shaking the whole time we waited. Paul gripped my hand tightly, but I could tell he was equally nervous as I was.

The nurse returned approximately thirty minutes later, but she was not alone. She returned with the hospital’s top medical officer.

“We’re terribly sorry for what you’re going through,” the doctor said. “Only one other woman had given birth at the same time and day as you. She also had a boy. I feel your biological son may be with her.

“So it’s true?!” Paul shouted. “You switched our babies?!”

“I’m truly sorry,” the doctor added. “You have the right to sue the hospital for compensation.”

“How are money and compensation supposed to make up for four years of not knowing the truth?” I asked through tears.

The doctor repeated, “I’m sorry,” before turning and walking away.

“Damn this system!” Paul yelled.

“I’ll give you the contact information for the other parents so you can reach out to them,” the nurse said quietly.

She went away after handing Paul a slip of paper with his name and phone number.

Paul and I stood there, startled. I was unable to stop crying. I just couldn’t keep it in. Paul caressed my back softly, attempting to calm me down.

When we arrived back home, we contacted the other parents. They were as astonished as we were; they had no idea.

Sarah and James have a son named Andrew. Our son’s name was Andrew. We agreed to meet with both children at our home.”

That night before the meeting, Paul and I allowed Austin to sleep in our bed. We hugged him tight as he dozed off to sleep.

“He’s still our son, right?” I whispered through tears. “We reared him. We had adored him for four years. I do not want to give him up.”

Sarah and James have a son named Andrew. Our son’s name was Andrew. We agreed to meet with both children at our home.

That night before the meeting, Paul and I allowed Austin to sleep in our bed. We hugged him tight as he dozed off to sleep.

“He’s still our son, right?” I whispered through tears. “We reared him. We had adored him for four years. I do not want to give him up.”

Paul squeezed my hand firmly. “Of course he is our son. No one will take him from us,” he assured me.

The next day, Sarah and James arrived with Andrew, erasing all my doubts. They were both blond, much like Austin.

And Andrew… Andrew looked precisely like Paul. It was as if someone had made a replica of Paul and shrunk it down into a small boy.

Austin and Andrew played together, and the four of us talked.

“We had our suspicions, especially in the beginning,” Sarah said. “But we just chalked it up to genetics.”

“After your call, we ran a quick DNA test.” Everything was made obvious after that. “I still can’t believe this happened,” she continued, her voice faltering as she began to cry.

“I get it,” Paul said softly. “It was not easy for us either.”

“But we don’t want to give up Austin,” I stated firmly.

As soon as I stated that, Sarah and James felt a sense of comfort.

“We were afraid you’d want to take Andrew away from us,” James admitted. “But we’re not ready to give up our son either.”

“We’d like to stay in touch, though,” Sarah continued.

“Yes, absolutely,” I responded. “God, this is all just so surreal.”

I looked over at our boys, who were playing blissfully, utterly unconscious of the emotional tempest churning around their parents. But, despite the pandemonium, I felt grateful. At least now we comprehended the reality.