Within a span of eight years, I gave birth to four precious daughters. Yet, my husband longed for a son. And finally, his wish came through when our baby boy was welcomed into the world.
I was in labor for twelve long hours and I was drained. I didn’t even have the strength to hold my baby. All I could hear was the sound of other babies crying, and at that moment, all I wanted was some peace and quiet. And while I was doing my best to gather some strength, my husband, Aaron, and our girls, Lily, Grace, Chloe, and tiny Ava, were outside the hospital room waiting with a “Welcome Baby” sign.
Honestly, I wasn’t the one who insisted on a big family. It was Aaron who pressured me for a boy, so I eventually stopped arguing when it came to expanding our family. For some reason, it was just easier to keep trying for a boy than to see the constant disappointment on Aaron’s face.
While Aaron was rambling about dinner and how Michael, his best friend of ten years who had practically lived at our house helping me haul groceries and cart the girls around during my miserable third trimester, was bringing food over, the doctor walked in. She said our baby was perfectly healthy; seven pounds, four ounces.
Aaron’s face split into a grin I don’t think I’d ever seen on him. He scooped the baby up, telling anyone who would listen that he was perfect.
Then the nurse took the baby back to the bassinet to change his diaper and unbuttoned his little shirt. And Aaron stopped cold.
“Aaron? What is it?” I called out, trying to sit up.
He didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on a spot on our baby’s back. He muttered something under his breath and leaned in closer, then told the nurse she needed to step out for a minute.
The second the door clicked shut, I demanded to know what was wrong.
Very slowly, Aaron turned to look at me. His eyes were hard and rimmed with red. “Michael.”
“What?”
“Michael,” Aaron repeated. “All those months I was stuck working late at the office. He was always at our house, right there with you.”
“You know damn well I asked Michael to help out because I was nine months pregnant with four kids running around,” I snapped, my heart starting to race.
Aaron stared back down at our newborn son. “Your kid has his birthmark, Elena. The exact same shape, in the exact same spot.”
I actually laughed at first, thinking it had to be a sick joke. But looking at his face, I realized he was dead serious. He started spiraling, convinced that Michael had been sleeping with me just because he dropped off groceries or picked up the girls while he worked late. I told him he was insane and that we could order a paternity test right that second to prove it. But he just backed away from the bassinet.
“I don’t need a test to see what’s staring me right in the face,” Aaron said. He told me to pack my things and go stay with my sister Diana, because he refused to come back to a house we shared.
He didn’t look at our son. He didn’t look at me. He just walked out of the hospital room.
Three days later, standing in Diana’s hallway with a heavy diaper bag and my hospital discharge papers still in my purse, I realized Aaron had blocked my number. All I got was a text message: My lawyer will be in touch about the divorce.
Diana sat me down with a cup of coffee and told me to stop crying over a coward. She said the only way to deal with a man like that was to hit him with facts he couldn’t talk his way out of. That very afternoon, I ordered an at-home paternity test, grabbed one of Aaron’s old toothbrushes from our bathroom when I went back to pack clothes, and swabbed my baby boy’s cheek.
The next day, Michael showed up on Diana’s porch holding a stuffed bear, genuinely confused about why Aaron had suddenly blocked his number too. I wasn’t ready to lay everything out for him yet, so I just told him we needed some space.
A week later, the PDF with the lab results landed in my email: Probability of paternity: 99.99%.
In the past, I probably would have cried and begged Aaron to look at the proof. But the memory of him walking out of the hospital and abandoning our newborn son stopped me cold. I wasn’t going to chase him. I simply forwarded the lab report to his email without a single word of text.
Less than an hour later, he came at my sister’s. This time, he wanted me back home.
“One question, Aaron. Answer me honestly,” I said, staring him down.
“Anything. Ask me anything.”
“How could you possibly think I was cheating with Michael?”
His face went completely blank. I could tell that he was confused. He claimed Michael did have that same birthmark, and it was too much of a coincidence. He didn’t know what to think.
I suggested that we speak to Michael and tell him about the birthmark, because he deserved to know why Aaron blocked his number and refused to talk to him.
Once at Michael’s, we learned the truth that nearly destroyed my marriage.
“My dad had the exact same mark,” Michael said, looking right past Aaron to meet my eyes.
“What are you talking about?” Aaron choked out.
“Your father was my father, too,” Michael said.
Turns out, Michael had known since he was seventeen. Their dad had made him swear never to say a word, telling him he could stick around as Aaron’s friend, but never as his brother. Even after the old man died, Michael kept his mouth shut because he was scared Aaron would blow a gasket and hate him. It finally explained why Michael had been such a mess at the funeral.
Aaron sat at the kitchen table with his face in his hands, completely wrecked. I didn’t say anything else. I just grabbed my coat and left.
The next day, Aaron showed up at Diana’s house. He looked like hell, talking a mile a minute about couples counseling, picking up the girls, doing whatever it took if I just brought the baby home.
I looked down at my sleeping son, then back at Aaron.
“No,” I told him.
“Elena, please. I messed up.”
“You looked at a birthmark and decided I was lying to your face,” I said. “You wouldn’t even listen to me at the hospital. I had to pay out of pocket for a lab test just to prove I didn’t cheat on you.” He stammered something about losing his mind and jumping to conclusions, but I cut him off. “I begged you not to walk out that door, and you did it anyway.”
For years, it had just been easier to give Aaron what he wanted than to deal with the fallout of disappointing him. I kept having kids because it stopped the nagging. But I was exhausted and I wasn’t doing this anymore.
I took my baby and went inside. We are not divorcing, not yet. And maybe we’ll be able to smooth things out eventually. But for now, I want the peace I was lacking for years.