“Fine. Do whatever you need to do.”
After we left the hospital, Alex said he needed space. He moved back in with his parents while we waited for the results.
I was left alone with a newborn, recovering from childbirth, barely sleeping, and trying to process what had just happened.
Thankfully, my sister Emily stepped in. She came every day, helping with Sarah and keeping me grounded.
One evening, as she rocked the baby, she shook her head in disbelief.
“I can’t believe he’s doing this. He should be here supporting you, not hiding at his parents’ house.”
“I don’t recognize him anymore,” I admitted. “It’s like something changed overnight.”
Emily squeezed my shoulder, but even she couldn’t fix what Alex had broken.
Then things got worse.
About a week later, my mother-in-law called.
At first, I thought she might be checking in on us. I was wrong.
“Jennifer,” she said coldly, “I heard about the paternity test. Let me make something clear—if that baby isn’t Alex’s, I’ll make sure you walk away with nothing.”
I froze.
“Mrs. Johnson, Sarah is Alex’s daughter. I would never—”
“Save it,” she snapped. “We’ll see what the test says. Until then, don’t expect anything from this family.”
Then she hung up.
I sat there in silence, stunned. Just like that, I had gone from being part of the family to being treated like an enemy.
I called Emily immediately, my voice shaking as I told her everything.
“She’s threatening lawyers already,” I said. “She thinks I cheated.”
Emily was furious. “Let them run the test. When it proves the truth, they’ll regret every word.”
