Chapter 4 - THE TEST I NEVER KNEW EXISTED
I laughed.
I actually laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes the truth becomes so impossible your body rejects it.
“Ethan and I have never met.”
Eleanor remained calm.
“I know.”
“Then Sophie cannot be his.”
“I know that too.”
I stopped.
“What are you saying?”
Ethan looked furious.
“Mother, enough riddles.”
Eleanor sat.
“Six years ago, you were shot.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“So?”
“You required emergency surgery.”
“I remember.”
“Before surgery, doctors collected reproductive material because they believed treatment might leave you infertile.”
I looked between them.
“This is insane.”
Ethan slowly understood.
His face changed.
“No.”
Eleanor nodded.
“The samples were stored privately.”
“Who had access?”
“Your physician. Two lab directors. And your father.”
Ethan’s voice dropped.
“My father is dead.”
“Now.”
A cold feeling crept over me.
I clutched Sophie closer.
“You’re saying somebody used Ethan’s… material?”
“Yes.”
“On me?”
Eleanor’s composure cracked slightly.
“I don’t know.”
I remembered the fertility clinic.
Not because I wanted a baby.
Because after years of irregular cycles, my doctor had referred me to a women’s health center.
Blood work.
Ultrasound.
Medication.
One strange appointment when the nurse said they needed to repeat a procedure because a sample had been contaminated.
Three weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.
I had assumed Michael was the father.
I looked at Ethan.
He looked sick.
“I never consented to anything like that.”
“Neither did I.”
For the first time, we stood on the same side of something horrifying.
Ethan ordered a private DNA test immediately.
No lawyers.
No family laboratory.
An independent hospital.
While we waited, I called my sister.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I texted:
LANDED. CALL ME.
A minute later, she replied.
DON’T COME TO THE HOTEL.
My blood went cold.
WHY?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then a photo came through.
My sister, Elena, sat in her hotel room.
Beside her stood Victor Kane.
An older man with silver hair.
He was smiling at the camera.
The message beneath it said:
BRING SOPHIE TO THE WEDDING AND YOUR SISTER WALKS AWAY.
Ethan read it over my shoulder.
His face became terrifyingly calm.
“No.”
“What?”
“You’re not going.”
“That’s my sister.”
“And that’s what he’s counting on.”
Before I could argue, the hospital called.
The DNA result was ready.
Ethan answered on speaker.
“Probability of paternity…”
The nurse paused.
“…99.9997 percent.”
I stared at Ethan.
May you like
He stared at Sophie.
And six months of my life suddenly belonged to a stranger.
