He brushed off my concern.
“Relax, sweetheart. We’ll stay in the living room. You won’t even notice us. Come on, it’s just one night. When am I ever gonna hang out with the guys again once the baby’s here?”
Too exhausted to argue, I sighed.
“Fine. Just keep it down, okay?”
He promised, though he already sounded distracted.
Soon, the apartment filled with noise—shouting, laughter, bottles clinking. I retreated to the bedroom, placing a hand on my belly.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I whispered. “Mommy’s just tired.”
Eventually, I drifted off to sleep.
At some point, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Hey. Wake up.”
Michael’s voice sounded tense. When I opened my eyes, his face looked tight, his eyes glassy, his body restless as he paced.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He hesitated.
“No, it’s just… something the guys said tonight got me thinking.”
Then, after a pause: “About the baby.”
My heart skipped.
“What about the baby, Michael?”
He let out a breath.
“I just… I want to make sure it’s mine.”
I froze.
“What did you just say?”
“I just want peace of mind! I want a DNA test before the birth.”
Tears filled my eyes instantly.
“Michael, I’m 35 weeks pregnant. You’ve held her ultrasound. You picked her name. We built her crib together.”
He crossed his arms.
“You wouldn’t be so defensive if there weren’t something to hide.”
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