After 15 years of raising our son together, my husband said: «I’ve always doubted. Time for a DNA test.» I laughed… until the results came. The doctor looked at me and seriously said: «You’d better sit down»…

It happened on a Tuesday. We were having dinner, me and John. I warmed up yesterday’s potatoes with chicken.

He ate in silence, abruptly, as always. And suddenly, between two bites, as if in passing, he dropped it. «I’ve been doubting for a while, Sarah.

I think it’s time to do a paternity test.» At first, I thought he was joking. Fifteen years we’ve been raising Michael together.

Sleepless nights when he had colic. First steps, fractures, school crafts. Fifteen years we were a team.

Or was it just me who thought so? «Are you out of your mind?» I laughed. But he didn’t smile. His jaw clenched.

The fork clattered loudly against the plate. He didn’t lift his eyes. «What do you mean?» I asked cautiously. «Exactly what I said.

There were reasons to doubt. It’s time to find out.» I didn’t even know what shocked me more—the fact that he doubted, or the cold composure with which he said it.

As if we were discussing a tax return or, I don’t know, choosing a new vacuum cleaner. John and I met when I was twenty-eight. I’d had my fill of passions and was looking for stability.

He was reliable, even if not romantic. The type who pays bills on time and helps with cleaning every Sunday. A year after the wedding, Michael was born.

Everything went without complications. He was there in the delivery room, even cried when he first held him. I remember it well; he didn’t even cry at his mother’s funeral.

And now this. I didn’t scream, didn’t ask «How dare you?» That night, I just lay next to him in bed, staring at the ceiling fan. Counted the rotations of the blades. After 15 years of raising our son together, my husband said: «I’ve always doubted. Time for a DNA test.» I laughed… until the results came. The doctor looked at me and seriously said: «You’d better sit down.»

I listened to his even breathing, as if he hadn’t just derailed our whole life. Two days later, we were sitting in a private lab. The nurse was overly friendly.

I even wondered how she saw us. As nervous parents. As a woman suspected of cheating.

Or a man tired of trusting. When Michael asked why he had to go to the doctor with us, John said «Just routine checkups.» I stayed silent.

Didn’t tell my sister Emily, who calls me every evening. Or my friend Jessica, who always has an opinion about guys. Or Michael’s pediatrician, who’s known him since he was two…