that?

She should’ve stayed calm if she’s not at fault.

Part of me regretted sharing my doubts with Julia, but part of me said I had the right to do the paternity test. I had the right to clear my doubts.

Getting the test done was awkward. I ordered a home testing kit online, and when it arrived, I had to figure out how to explain it to Aidan.

He was super curious about the cheek swab.

“It’s just a special test to learn more about our family,” I explained.

“Like how we both love chocolate ice cream… Maybe that’s in our genes!”

“Will it hurt?” he asked, clutching his favorite dinosaur toy.

“Not at all, buddy. It’s just like brushing your teeth.”

He sat still while I swabbed his cheek. Then, he ran off to play with his brothers, already forgetting about it.

I wished I could forget too.

The next two weeks were the longest of my life.

Julia barely spoke to me and slept in the guest room. She only talked to me about the kids’ schedules. Nothing else.

At dinner, she’d serve my plate without looking at me, and I noticed she’d stopped wearing her wedding ring.

When the envelope finally arrived, my hands shook as I opened it.

The results were clear.

99.99% probability of paternity.

Aidan was mine. The relief that flooded through me was immediately replaced by shame.

I showed Julia the results that evening, hoping it would fix things. Instead, she burst into tears.

“You think this makes it better?” she asked.

“You broke us, Gerald. You broke our trust.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was wrong.

So wrong.”

“I’ve been thinking about divorce,” she said quietly.

“Divorce?” I repeated, unable to process the word. “No, please. We can work this out.

We can go to therapy, anything.”

“How can I stay with someone who didn’t trust me? Who was willing to risk our son’s sense of security because of his own insecurities?” She wiped her eyes. “What if Aidan finds out someday that his own father doubted he was his?

Do you know what that could do to him?”

“I’ll never let him know,” I promised. “Please, Jules, give me a chance to make this right.”

“You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about the test results,” she shook her head.

“It’s about what you were willing to risk. Our marriage, our family’s stability, and our son’s sense of belonging. All because you couldn’t trust me.”

I spent the next three days sleeping on the couch, trying to figure out how to fix what I’d broken.

Meanwhile, the kids noticed something was wrong.

Liam asked why Mom’s eyes were always red, and Aidan kept trying to make us laugh at dinner. Even baby Owen seemed fussier than usual.

Finally, Julia agreed to try couples therapy, but with a condition.

“If this doesn’t work, I’m leaving,” she said firmly. “I won’t live in a marriage without trust.

And Gerald? Even if I stay, I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you for this.”

So here we are, sitting in a therapist’s office twice a week, trying to rebuild what my doubts destroyed. I guess Julia was right.

The DNA test results don’t matter anymore.

The real damage wasn’t about biology. It was about trust.

The therapist says healing takes time, but I wonder if some wounds go too deep to heal.

I thought taking that test would give me peace of mind. Instead, it taught me that some questions are better left unasked, and some doubts can destroy the very thing you’re trying to protect.

Do you have any opinions on this?

Source: amomama