Off The Record
After I Saw The Baby My Wife Gave Birth To, I Was Ready To Leave Her — But Then She Said, “There’s Something I Need To Tell You.”
Marcus’s world falls apart the moment he sees his newborn. He is prepared to go since he believes his wife, Elena, has deceived him. Before he can, though, she divulges a secret that makes him doubt everything. Will love be sufficient to keep them together?
The day my wife revealed that we were expecting a child, I was overjoyed. We were eager to have our first child because we had been trying for a while. However, Elena dropped a bombshell one day as we were talking about the birth plan.
She said, “I don’t want you in the delivery room,” in a gentle yet forceful tone.
It seemed as though someone had punched me in the stomach. “What?” “Why not?”
Elena refused to look at me. “I simply must complete this task by myself. Please be understanding.”
I honestly didn’t understand. But I trusted Elena, and I loved her more than anything. I would respect it if this was what she needed. Nevertheless, that day, a small seed of discomfort germinated in my stomach.
That seed expanded as Elena’s due date drew near. The night before Elena’s scheduled induced delivery, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant was about to occur.
We went to the hospital the following morning. As they wheeled Elena away, I gave her a kiss at the maternity unit entrance.
The hours passed. I checked my phone every two minutes, drank too much awful coffee, and walked the waiting area. At last a physician appeared. My heart fell when I took one look at his face. There was a problem.
“Mr. Johnson?” he asked in a somber tone. “You’d better come with me.”
I had a thousand terrible ideas running through my head as I followed the doctor down the corridor. Was Elena all right? The infant? The doctor pushed the door wide as we arrived at the delivery room. Desperate to see Elena, I hurried in.
There she was, appearing lively yet tired. I felt a brief wave of relief before I realized the bundle was in her arms.
The baby, our baby, had blond hair, skin as pale as new snow, and eyes that were shockingly blue when it opened them.
“What the hell is this?” I heard myself say that in a strange, distant voice.
Elena’s eyes were filled with a mixture of dread and love as she glanced up at me. “Marcus, I can explain—”
I wasn’t listening, though. I was enveloped in a scarlet fog of betrayal and rage. “What can you explain? That you were unfaithful to me? That’s not my child?”
“No! Marcus, please—”
I interrupted her, raising my voice. “Elena, don’t tell me lies! I’m not a moron.” “That is not our child.”
Around us, nurses hustled to defuse the situation, but I was irrational. My heart felt like it was being torn from my chest. How could she harm me like this? To us?
“Marcus!” Elena’s acerbic tone pierced my anger. “Observe the infant. Take a peek.”
I paused at something in her tone. Elena pointed to the baby’s right ankle as she gently rotated it, and I looked down.
A tiny birthmark in the shape of a crescent was visible as day. It was the same one that I had had since birth and that other people in my family also had.
In a moment, the fight left me and was replaced by complete bewilderment. Silently, “I don’t understand,” I said.
Elena inhaled deeply. “I have something to share with you. I should have told you this years ago.”
Elena started to explain as the infant calmed down.
She had undertaken some genetic testing when we were engaged. According to the findings, she possessed a rare recessive gene that, independent of the parents’ appearance, may result in a child with light features and a pale complexion.
She uttered the words, “I didn’t tell you because the odds were so slim,” with shaking voice. “I also didn’t believe it would make a difference. The only thing that mattered was our affection for one another.”
With my head whirling, I slumped into a chair. “But how…?”
Elena clarified, “You must carry the gene too.”
“Both parents can carry it without knowing, and then…” She pointed to our infant.
Now our little girl was sleeping soundly, unaware of the chaos all around her.
I gazed at the youngster. There was no denying the birthmark, but my brain was struggling to process it.
Elena murmured, “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,” as tears filled her eyes. “I was afraid, but as time went on, it didn’t seem as significant. I never thought this would come to pass.”
I wanted to be upset. I still had some of it. However, I sensed something else becoming stronger as I gazed at our small, flawless baby and Elena, who was worn out and defenseless. Love. fierce affection that is protecting.
I got up and walked over to the bed, putting my arms over them both. “We’ll figure this out,” I whispered into Elena’s hair. “Together.”
I had no idea that our difficulties were only getting started.
It should have been a happy moment to bring our baby home. Rather, it was like entering a combat zone.
My family had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of the newest member. However, chaos erupted when they saw our blond-haired, pale-skinned bundle of happiness.
“What kind of joke is this?” Denise, my mother, narrowed her eyes and looked from Elena to the infant before making her demand.
To protect my wife from the accusations, I moved in front of her. “Mom, it’s serious. This is your grandchild.”
Tanya, my sister, sneered. “Get moving, Marcus. You’re not going to get us to believe that.”
“It’s true,” I demanded, attempting to sound composed. “I share a rare gene with Elena. Everything was explained by the doctor.”
However, they weren’t paying attention. With a hushed voice, my brother Jamal drew me away. “I know you adore her, but you have to face reality, bro. That’s not your child.”
My chest grew angry as I shook him off. “Jamal is my child. Examine the ankle’s birthmark. It is identical to mine.”
However, my family remained unconvinced despite my repeated explanations, displays of the birthmark, and entreaties for understanding.
Elena was the target of their suspicions, and every visit devolved into an interrogation.
A week or two after we had brought the baby home, I woke up one night to the cracking sound of the nursery door. My mother was leaning over the crib when I snuck down the corridor, instantly aware.
“What are you doing?” She was startled by my hiss.
Mom looked guilty as she leaped back. She had a wet washcloth in her hand. I was shocked to learn that she had been attempting to remove the birthmark since she was certain it wasn’t real.
I exclaimed, “That’s enough,” in a furious tone. “Leave.” “Now.”
“Marcus, I was just—”
“Out!” I said it again, louder.
Elena emerged in the hallway, appearing anxious, as I steered her to the front door. “What’s going on?”
I described what had transpired while observing Elena’s face light up with hurt and rage. She had been incredibly sympathetic and tolerant of my family’s skepticism. However, this was going too far.
“I think it’s time your family left,” Elena said.
I turned to my mother and nodded. “I love you, Mom, but this must end. You can’t be a part of our lives unless you embrace our child. That’s how easy it is.”
Denise’s expression grew stern. “You’re choosing her over your own family?”
“No,” I firmly answered. “I’m choosing Elena and our baby over your prejudice and suspicion.”
I was both relieved and saddened as I shut the door after her. Although I cherished my family, I could no longer allow their doubts to taint our joy.
Elena and I, both emotionally spent, unwinded on the couch. I mumbled, “I’m so sorry,” and drew her closer. “I should have stood up to them sooner.”
She sighed and leaned in close to me. “You are not to blame. I can see why they’re finding it difficult to accept. All I can hope is…”
“I know,” I whispered, planting a kiss on her crown. “Me too.”
The weeks that followed were filled with stressful phone calls from relatives, restless nights, and diaper changes.
I was rocking the infant to sleep one afternoon when Elena came up to me, her eyes resolved.
As she whispered, “I think we should get a DNA test,”
My chest began to ache. We don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Elena. I am aware that this is our child.
She took my free hand in hers and sat down beside me. “Marcus, I am aware that you think so. And for that, I adore you. However, your family won’t accept this. Perhaps they will finally accept us if we can provide evidence.”
She was correct. We were all being eaten away by the persistent doubt.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Let’s do it.”
The day finally came. Elena was hugging the baby to her chest as we waited in the doctor’s office, and I was holding her hand so tightly that I was worried I could be harming her. The doctor came in, his face unreadable, holding a folder.
“Mr. and Mrs. Johnson,” he said, “I have your results here.”
Suddenly, I was afraid and held my breath. What if the test resulted in a negative result due to some cosmic joke? How would I respond to that?
Grinning, the doctor opened the folder. “The DNA test confirms that you, Mr. Johnson, are indeed the father of this child.”
I felt a rush of relief sweep over me. I looked at Elena, who was crying quietly, her face displaying a mixture of happiness and validation. I felt as though a burden had been removed from my shoulders as I gathered them both into an embrace.
I convened a family meeting after receiving the test results.
With a mix of curiosity and lingering skepticism, my mother, siblings, and a few aunts and uncles gathered in our living room to observe the infant.
I held the test findings in front of them. I said, “I know you’ve all had your doubts,” in a firm voice. However, it’s time to let them rest. A DNA test has been performed on us.
As they read the indisputable fact, I shared the results around. Some appeared embarrassed, while others were astonished. My mother held the paper with trembling hands.
Her words were feeble. “I… I don’t understand,” she muttered. “All that recessive gene stuff was true?”
The answer was, “Of course it was.”
My relatives apologized one after the other. All appeared sincere, yet some were embarrassed and some were sincere. The last person to speak was my mother.
She said, “I’m so sorry,” with tears in her eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Elena, who is always more polite than I am, got up and gave her a hug. Softly, “Of course we can,” she murmured. “We’re family.”
A feeling of calm descended upon me as I observed them cuddling and our infant cooing quietly between them. Although our small family may not have appeared as everyone anticipated, it was ours. And it was all that counted in the end.
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