“AB positive.”
Ethan said the words slowly.
Martha didn’t answer.
We were still in the kitchen.
The torn envelope lay on the floor.
The laboratory packet was spread across the table now, every page flattened beneath Ethan’s hands.
I had stopped caring about the paternity result.
It sat at the top of the first page in clean black print.
Probability of Paternity: Greater Than 99.999%.
The sentence that should have ended our crisis had somehow begun a different one.
Ethan tapped the next page.
“It says I’m AB positive.”
Martha folded her arms.
“So?”
“So Dad is O negative.”
Her face remained expressionless.
I knew Robert’s blood type because he carried a donor card in his wallet and proudly mentioned that he was a universal red-cell donor every time someone in the family discussed blood donation.
Ethan looked at his mother.
“And you’re O positive.”
Martha’s mouth tightened.
I watched Ethan’s confusion deepen.
He had a business degree, not a medical one, but he understood enough.
So did I.
Two parents with type O blood could not ordinarily produce a biological child with type AB blood.
Ethan shook his head.
“No.”
Martha grabbed for the papers.
He pulled them back.
“It must be wrong.”
“The paternity result isn’t wrong?” I asked quietly.
She shot me a look.
“This doesn’t concern you.”
I almost laughed.
“You tore open my medical mail thirty seconds ago.”
“This is a family matter.”
“I am his wife.”
Martha looked at Ethan.
“Those tests make mistakes.”
“You insisted we trust this laboratory.”
“For the paternity test.”
“It’s the same laboratory.”
“That doesn’t mean every line is accurate.”
Her voice had climbed half an octave.
Ethan noticed.
So did I.
He stared at his mother.
“Then we’ll test again.”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
Martha heard it herself.
Her eyes flickered.
Ethan slowly lowered the report.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t say no.”
“You literally just said no.”
“I mean there’s no reason to create a second problem because of some clerical error.”
“Then another test proves it’s a clerical error.”
“Ethan.”
He stood.
“Call Dad.”
Martha went pale.
That was when my fear became certainty.
There was something she knew.
Maybe not exactly what I was imagining.
Maybe something more complicated.
But she knew something.
“Martha,” I said.
She ignored me.
“Ethan, you’ve gotten what you needed. The baby is yours. That was the purpose of this.”
“The purpose?”
He laughed in disbelief.
“You spent three months telling me my wife might have cheated on me. You made me ask the woman carrying my child for a DNA test. Now the report says I’m her baby’s father, and apparently it also says something impossible about me.”
“It says your blood type.”
“Exactly.”
He picked up his phone.
Martha moved between him and the doorway.
“Give me the paperwork.”
Ethan stopped.
“What?”
“You don’t need it.”
I felt a chill.
He stared at her.
“It’s my test.”
“It contains Olivia’s medical information.”
I actually stepped forward.
“Do not use me as your excuse.”
She turned on me.
“You have caused enough trouble.”
Something inside me hardened.
