Chapter 1

At seven weeks pregnant, the test results came back.

The report showed that the fetus carried a genetic defect gene, explicitly marked as "paternal origin."

That very same day, my husband, Ethan, received his own screening results.

It showed that he was not a carrier.

He stared at the two reports in silence for a long time before looking up at me. "Whose baby is it?"

I defended myself, "It's yours, of course! What are you suspecting?"

He didn't argue with me.

Just like before, he drove me to work and went with me to my OB-GYN ultrasounds.

Yet I knew what was happening behind my back.

Every single time, he pulled the doctor aside.

"When can we schedule an abortion for my wife?"

By the ninth week, the doctor told us the fetus had stopped developing.

It was a missed miscarriage, and I had to undergo a D&C immediately.

Right outside the operating room, I heard Ethan ask the doctor, "Can we run a paternity test on the aborted tissue?"

Only then did reality hit me like a splash of ice water.

A single sheet of paper had completely shattered ten years of love.

He was already convinced that I had cheated on him.

A marriage without trust is doomed.

Before they wheeled me into the OR, I handed him a signed divorce agreement.

After the procedure, I lay alone in the hospital bed.

The grief of losing my baby, paired with the sharp, hollow aches in my body, made tears stream uncontrollably down my face.

Just then, Ethan walked into the room, accompanied by a nurse.

"Nora, I need to know whose baby it was."

"Just sign this paternity test consent form."

Seeing me remain silent, Ethan assumed I was refusing.

He started rambling, every sentence calculated to persuade me into signing the authorization.

His words finally pulled me out of my grief.

I looked at the man before me—no longer the person I once knew—and let out a hollow, bitter smile.

Enduring the throbbing pain, I pushed myself up and took the clipboard from his hands.

I flipped straight to the last page and signed my name.

Ethan stared at me, his prepared speech dying in his throat.

"Nora, I..."

"I signed it. Is it over now?"

My voice was hoarse, and the IV needle on the back of my hand trembled with my breath.

Ethan wanted to say something more, but I didn't have the strength or the heart to listen.

"Since you have what you want, go handle the paperwork outside. My incision hurts. I want to sleep."

The nurse glanced at Ethan, waiting until he finished countersigning before speaking up.

"The tissue sample will be transferred to the forensic lab, and the genetics department will cross-check the genomic report. It'll take about seven business days."

Ethan immediately pressed, "Is the sample sufficient? Could it be contaminated? Do we need to redraw blood for the genetic verification?"

The doctor, overhearing his questions, looked up from the chart.

"Everything follows standard protocol. Your wife just had surgery. Let her rest first."

The hospital door clicked shut.

Ethan sat back down on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket over my exposed feet.

"Ethan, once the results are out, let's get divorced."

My eyes stayed closed, my breathing shallow.

Ethan froze, his hand pausing on the edge of the blanket. "I don't want a divorce."

"I just want the truth."

I cleared my throat, barely above a whisper. "I'm the one who doesn't want this marriage anymore."

"Your doubts and your lack of trust... I will never be able to forget them."

"Instead of spending the rest of our lives in endless screaming matches, it's better to end it here. For both of us."

Ethan went quiet for a long moment before murmuring, "Let's talk about it later. You're not feeling well right now. Don't make impulsive decisions."

There it was again.

Ever since he got that genetic report, every boundary I set was dismissed as an emotional outburst.

Every interrogation he mounted was labeled as a righteous search for "the truth."

As the anesthesia wore off, the pain in my lower abdomen flared up violently.

Seeing cold sweat break out on my forehead, Ethan gently comforted me while rushing out to call the nurse.

His voice was tender, his eyes filled with profound care.

We had dated for seven years and been married for three. In moments like this, he seemed no different from the boy who had pursued me so passionately all those years ago.

What a tragic irony. A tiny life had come between us like a poisoned thorn.

Now that the baby was gone, his first instinct wasn't to mourn or comfort his grieving wife—it was to figure out whether the child had been his.

I understood his clinical doubts, but my heart was dead. I could never love him the way I used to.

I drifted into a feverish sleep. By the time I woke up, it was already past eight in the evening. Ethan wasn't in the room.

Through the crack of the door, I heard the voice of his childhood friend, Chloe.

"The fetus was nine weeks along, so a paternity test is technically feasible. But with tissue this early, sorting out maternal contamination is tricky."

Ethan's voice was low and heavy. "Will the results be accurate?"

Chloe replied with a slight, patronizing sigh, "I can't guarantee you a miracle."

"Nora agreed to the test. Maybe the baby really is yours. Or maybe she asked another OB beforehand and knows the sample might turn out inconclusive."

"Don't overthink it until the report comes back."

It took Ethan a long while to answer. "Nora isn't that kind of person. She just lost the baby, Chloe. Don't make wild assumptions."

"Fine, make me the villain."

Chloe scoffed softly. "Ever since we were kids, who bailed you out every time you got in trouble? Nora sheds two tears, and suddenly you're blaming me!"

"It's not like I fabricated her baby's genetic results."

The sharp clatter of high heels followed, and my room door was pushed open.

Chloe walked in carrying a thermal food container. Seeing me awake, she stopped in her tracks.

"You heard?"

She didn't even bother pretending.

That was very much like her.

"I heard."

Chloe set the food container down and turned to glare at Ethan.

"I told you to close the door properly! You never listen."

Ethan's face darkened. "You should head home."

Chloe slammed the container onto the bedside table.

"I spent two hours simmering soup for you guys and drove all the way over here without even a sip of water. And now I'm the nuisance."

She walked toward the door, then turned back to look at me. "Nora, our lab ran that sample twice. You know Ethan's family history better than anyone."

I looked straight into her eyes. "Splitting a single blood draw into two vials and running them on the same machine counts as 'two independent tests' now?"

Chloe's expression flickered.

"The result is the exact same. What's the difference?"

"You read one sample twice, yet you deliberately framed it to him as two separate confirmations."

I looked at Ethan. "And he swallowed it whole. Convinced that I was cheating, ready to discard his own child."

Ethan stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Lie down first."

I knocked his hand away.

Chloe lingered by the doorway, biting her lip. "I was only trying to help. If you want to treat me like an enemy, be my guest!"

"Chloe," Ethan called after her, his tone stern. "Send me the full report."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I sent it days ago. If you didn't bother reading it, who's to blame?"

The door shut with a heavy thud.

Ethan pulled out his phone and brought up the screenshot Chloe had sent him. It was cropped right below the line: Father's peripheral blood does not carry this variant. Whatever came after was completely cut off.

He placed the phone face down on the table. "I'll go pick up the physical copy myself tomorrow."

"Why didn't you go today?"

He looked at me, unable to answer.

Because deep down, he already thought he had the answer.

His wife was pregnant. The fetus carried a paternal genetic mutation. His own blood test was negative.

To him, what else was there to check?