That cut deepest. I had endured Vivien’s scorn, her cold remarks, her silent verdicts, for him. And now, at her poison, he faltered.
My voice emerged calm. “You’re not seriously entertaining this, are you?”
He stayed silent.
Vivien turned icy eyes on me. “If you’ve nothing to hide, then agree to a paternity test.”
It wasn’t a request—it was a challenge. I looked at Luna, resting in peace, untouched by the chaos around her. And something in me hardened. The part desperate for Vivien’s approval died, replaced by clarity.
“Fine,” I said. “Do the test. But when it clears me, remember that on Luna’s first day, you tried to cast her out.”
“Alyra, please, let’s not argue,” Caleb muttered, weak.
Vivien’s lips curled. “Good. I’ll arrange it.”
That night, I didn’t sleep. Her words replayed endlessly. Caleb snored uneasily in a chair, a man torn between two loyalties. By dawn, I decided. I wouldn’t wait. I called the lab and booked the appointment myself—for Caleb, Luna, and me. I was done being a bystander in my life.
When I told Caleb, he hesitated. “But we already know.”
“Then let her see it on paper,” I replied coldly. “From someone impartial.”
Two days later, we entered a sterile lab beneath buzzing lights. Vivien was already waiting, sunglasses indoors, performing for an imaginary jury. We were called back. Quick swabs. Painless. Then, waiting.
Two days later, the phone rang. “We need to discuss a secondary finding in person,” the technician said. My stomach clenched.
At the consultation, a genetic counselor joined. That detail alone made my blood chill.
She opened the folder. “First, the paternity test confirms—99.9%—that Caleb is indeed Luna’s father.”
Relief washed me. Caleb looked at his mother. Vivien remained stone-faced, no apology.
“However,” the counselor continued, “we uncovered an anomaly in Caleb’s results.”
She paused. “Our findings show Caleb is not biologically related to the woman he believes is his mother.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Vivien blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The genetic markers reveal no maternal connection,” the counselor explained softly. “We rechecked twice.”
Caleb’s face drained of life.
“That’s impossible,” Vivien whispered, cracking. “I was there. I birthed him. I held him.”
“We don’t question you raised him,” the counselor clarified. “But genetically, you are not his mother.”
Caleb rasped, “Then who is?”
The counselor suggested a switch at birth, a clerical mistake, or another circumstance.
The science was undeniable—the story unknown.
For once, fear replaced arrogance in Vivien’s eyes. Her sacred bloodline, her prized legacy, was a fabrication.
“All these years,” Caleb muttered, “you raised me, yet I’m not—”
“Don’t say it!” Vivien erupted, her control shattered. “I am your mother! I held you through sickness, through pain! I gave everything for you!”
Caleb’s tears brimmed. “Then why destr0y mine?”
She had no answer.
I rose, clutching Luna. “She is family,” I declared. “Not through DNA, but because she is part of him. Because we are building something despite all obstacles.”
We left in stunned silence. Vivien drifted toward her car alone, muttering, “I didn’t know.” And for the first time, I believed her.
At home, Caleb sat in the nursery, results in hand, eyes lost. I joined him.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he whispered, str0king Luna’s arm. “But I know who she is. And who you are. Maybe,” he looked at me, fragile hope in his gaze, “maybe that’s enough to begin again.”
In the hushed glow of the nursery, the three of us sat together—a new family, not bound by blood, but forged in truth revealed by a shattered lie. Through the cracks, light finally entered, and for the first time, we truly saw each other.