“These tests were conducted by a certified laboratory with AABB accreditation,” the judge interrupted, his voice dropping to a dangerous level of ice. “They show a zero percent probability. Mrs. Chandler, you are under oath. Are these results accurate?”
The room held its breath. Even the court stenographer stopped typing. I watched my wife, the woman I had loved for half my life, and saw the moment she realized the math no longer worked. There was no exit.
“No,” she whispered. The word seemed to hang in the air like smoke. “No, they’re not his.”
The courtroom erupted into a low, frantic murmur. Pratt, Lenora’s lawyer, looked like a man who had just realized he was standing in quicksand. He tried to pivot, suggesting that I was still the legal father by virtue of the marriage, but the judge slammed the papers down.
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