My husband insisted our newborn son wasn’t his the very night I gave birth. I was still exhausted, trembling, holding our tiny boy against my chest when he said, with a coldness I’d never heard before, “We need a paternity test. If you have nothing to hide, you won’t refuse.”
I stared at him, stunned. I had never cheated. Not once. In our seven years of marriage, I had given him everything—my time, my loyalty, my heart. And here he was, accusing me of betrayal while I was still lying in a hospital bed.
