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»…

Myself. No warning. He opened the door in a tank top and sweats.

Behind him—a woman in her thirties. In a robe—hair wet. «Not even gonna deny it?» I asked calmly.

He just scratched his head. «It doesn’t mean anything…» I smirked. «Flowers, hotels, dinners… Sounds like nothing, sure.

She probably just listens to you attentively, huh?» «At least she didn’t lie to me for fifteen years,» he snapped. I didn’t think. Hand rose itself.

The slap was loud. I didn’t lie. I gave birth.

I held our son. Loved him. Raised him.

And if the test proved anything, it’s that you’re not a father. Not by blood, not by essence. You ran when it got scary.

He turned away, said nothing. I drove off. On the way, a text from Laura.

Jacob is asking. «Maybe meet?» We picked a neutral spot—a park. Told the kids it’s just a walk.

Jacob stood with hands in pockets, Michael in a hoodie, frowning. They looked at each other, then at us. «Mom, what’s going on?» Michael finally asked.

Laura spoke first. «Jacob, this is Sarah. She’s your biological mom.»

Silence. I knelt next to Michael. «Buddy, 15 years ago in the hospital there was a mistake.

I didn’t know. No one knew. But you—you’re not ours by blood.

But you’re mine. You always were mine. You still are.»

He froze. Then stepped back. «I’m not yours?» «No, you are mine.

Just not biologically. Understand? Dad knows?» I nodded. «That’s why he left?» I couldn’t answer.

He turned away and looked at Jacob. «Is that you? Me?» «Probably.» He shrugged.

«But we’re different.» They didn’t talk more. Just stood.

Two boys, each with their fate, suddenly shared. After the meeting, Michael barely spoke. Locked in his room.

No music. No ball thumping. No asking for seconds.

The silence rang in my ears. On the third evening, I found him on the porch. In his hoodie.

Knees to chest. «Hey,» I said, sitting next. He didn’t look at me.

«Do I have to live with that woman?» «No, no one’s taking you.» «But she’s the real one.» «And I’m not real?» I whispered. He wiped his nose with his sleeve.

«I don’t even know who I am anymore.» I put my hand on his back. He didn’t pull away.

«You know, I don’t know either. But maybe we figure it out together?» Next morning, I met Nathan again. He prepared a letter to the hospital.

«Demands, not a request. We’re not asking anymore. They’ll drag it out,» he said…