He heard Beatrice say, “Exactly as promised.”
Then he heard the question about his father.
Terrence stopped breathing for a moment.
When the video ended, he remained staring at the blank screen.
Finally he said, “Is this real?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Not ever?”
“Not until yesterday.”
His eyes filled, but he did not cry.
He pressed both palms against the desk and leaned forward.
“What did the report say?”
I handed him the copy.
He read it silently.
Then he sat down.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
At last he whispered, “So you’re not my father.”
I answered immediately.
“That report says I’m not your biological father.”
He looked at me.
“That is not the same sentence.”
His face broke then.
I walked around the desk and held my son while he cried exactly as he had at the wedding, except this time no one was watching and there was no music to hide the sound.
When he could speak again, he asked the question I had dreaded.
“Do you want a new test?”
“Only if you do.”
“I need to know.”
“Then we’ll know.”
Before doing anything else, Terrence insisted that we confront Beatrice and Megan together.
That evening, they came to our house believing we were having a family dinner.
Beatrice entered carrying dessert.
Megan came behind her.
The moment she saw Terrence’s face, she stopped.
Beatrice looked at me.
“What happened?”
I placed the old laboratory report on the dining table.
The dessert box slipped from her hands.
Megan backed toward the doorway.
Terrence spoke first.
“Sit down.”
Neither woman moved.
He repeated it.
“Sit down.”
They did.
Beatrice tried denial first.
She said the report was old.
She said tests could be wrong.
She said we were misunderstanding the conversation at the restaurant.
Then I placed the flash drive beside the report.
Her excuses stopped.
Megan turned on her immediately.
“You said the room was private.”
Terrence stared at his new wife.
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
