Father Disowns Newborn Baby And Accuses Wife Of Cheating, Then Wife Does This
Dr. Wilson blinked as though snapped out of a daze. “Oh. It’s nothing,” she said too quickly. “I just need to check something in your hospital record.”
Before Emily could press further, she slipped out of the exam room, leaving the door swinging softly behind her.
The silence that followed was different from the one at home. This one felt charged, humming with something just out of reach.
Emily shifted the baby in her arms. The child gurgled and grabbed at the edge of her gown, unaware of the way her mother’s hands had begun to shake.
The clock on the wall ticked. A pair of footsteps passed in the hall, faded, then returned. The waiting stretched.
When Dr. Wilson came back, her face was composed again, but her eyes looked wrong. Tired. Strained.
She sat across from Emily, setting the file on her lap.
“Emily,” she began, careful and slow, “I need to double-check something with you. Your baby’s bloodwork isn’t lining up with the information in our records.”
Emily frowned. “What does that mean?”
Dr. Wilson laced her fingers together. “It means the genetic markers we’re seeing in your daughter’s panel don’t match what would be expected from your file.”
Cold slid down Emily’s spine. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s a possibility,” Dr. Wilson said, each word deliberate, “that during the chaos after delivery—when the babies were weighed, tagged, and moved to recovery—identification bands were placed incorrectly.”
“Incorrectly,” Emily repeated, the word hollow.
“In other words,” the doctor forced herself to continue, “there may have been a switch.”
Emily stared at her. “A switch… between who and who?”
Dr. Wilson’s shoulders sagged. “The night you delivered, there was another birth in the adjoining room. Another baby girl, delivered within minutes of your daughter. Two teams of nurses, two sets of charts, one very busy ward.”
Images flashed in Emily’s mind—blurred faces, the rush of bodies, the brief glimpse she’d had of another crying infant as they wheeled her away.
“We rely on banding protocols,” Dr. Wilson said. “Numbers, names, constant cross-checking. But if one error slips into the system…” She swallowed. “Every step afterward looks correct on paper.”
Emily’s throat felt tight. “Say it,” she whispered. “Just say it.”
Dr. Wilson met her eyes. “The child you took home,” she said gently, “may not be your biological daughter.”
The room tilted.
“I’m so sorry,” the doctor added, the words small and useless against the weight of what she’d just said.
