Chapter 3 - The Lab Results
Three days later, I sat in the living room of my sister Rachel’s small townhouse on the other side of the city.
The quiet of the house was a stark contrast to the nightmare I had escaped. Leo was fast asleep in a portable crib near the sofa, his tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically. My lip was swollen, yellow-purple bruises had bloomed across my shoulders, but for the first time in weeks, I could breathe.
The emergency protective order was served on Mark the night of his arrest. He had spent eighteen hours in a county holding cell before his mother posted his bail. He was stripped of his keys, forbidden from coming within five hundred feet of me or Leo, and facing charges of domestic battery and child endangerment.
My phone chimed on the coffee table. It was an email notification.
Subject: LabCorp Direct Paternity Test Results - Order #88492.
My breath caught in my throat. Evelyn’s test. She had used a commercial lab that sent automatic digital updates to the email address registered on the account—an account she had carelessly linked using Mark’s primary email, which I still had logged into on my tablet.
My fingers hovered over the screen. I didn't need a test to tell me who my son's father was. I had been faithful to Mark for seven years. I had endured his mother’s passive-aggressive insults, her constant insinuations that I was a "gold digger" who wasn't good enough for her precious architect son, and her subtle jabs about my appearance.
I tapped the screen and opened the PDF document.
Biological Probability of Paternity: 99.99% Alleged Father: Mark Anthony Vance Child: Leo Vance Result: Paternity Confirmed.
I stared at the numbers on the screen. A bitter, cold laugh escaped my throat.
Fourteen days of torture. Fourteen days of Evelyn looking at my son's dark blue eyes and whispering that he had "stranger’s features." Fourteen days of Mark looking at me with growing suspicion, pulling away from me in bed, questioning every late stay at my office from a year ago.
All because of Evelyn’s toxic, jealous delusions.
Suddenly, Rachel’s front door opened. My sister walked in carrying a bag of groceries, her eyes immediately zeroing in on my face.
"What is it, Clara?" she asked, setting the bags down on the counter. "Did the lawyer call?"
"No," I said, holding up the tablet screen. "Evelyn’s lab results just came back."
Rachel rushed over, reading the bold numbers at the top of the page. "Ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent. Of course he's the father! The idiot! The absolute, miserable idiot!"
"He tore our family apart for a lie his mother invented," I said, my voice deadly quiet. "He let her touch our baby, he dragged me across the floor, and for what? Because he was too weak to stand up to his mother."
My phone vibrated again. It was a text from an unknown number.
Clara, please. It's Mark using a burner phone. I know I'm breaking the restraining order, but I just got the email from the lab. Oh my god, Clara. He's mine. Leo is my son. I was crazy. Mom was wrong. Please let me see him. I'll do anything. I'll get rid of my mother. Just come home.
I read the message twice. I felt no satisfaction. I felt no triumph. I felt only a profound, freezing disgust.
May you like
I tapped the screen, took a screenshot of his text message—a clear violation of his protective order—and forwarded it directly to my divorce attorney, Elena Sterling.
Then, I blocked the number.
