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After I Got Pregnant, My Husband Asked for a DNA Test
Novelix
Completed
Claire finds out she is pregnant on the same day her husband, Ethan, receives a report suggesting he may be infertile. Instead of joy, he asks whose baby she is carrying. No matter how many times Claire tells him the child is his, Ethan chooses suspicion, guided by the words of his longtime friend Megan. When Claire miscarries at ten weeks, Ethan’s first instinct is not to comfort her, but to request a DNA test. The result proves the baby was his, but the truth comes too late. Claire has already learned that love without trust is just another kind of wound.
Chapters (3)
第1章
The day my husband Ethan got his azoospermia report, I had just found out I was pregnant.
He sat outside the hospital until dark. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm.
"Whose baby is it?"
I thought he was in shock. I thought it was just something people say when they can't process what they're hearing.
Then his childhood friend Megan called.
"Don't scare her. She's pregnant. If something happens, you'll be the one hurting in the end." She paused, then added, "The report's right there. If you want to pretend you didn't see it, that's your call."
Ethan didn't yell at me. He didn't bring up divorce. He still drove me to work every morning and came with me to every prenatal appointment. But after each visit, he'd ask the same thing: "When are we scheduling the procedure?"
I told him a hundred times. The baby was his.
He'd hold me, gentle as ever.
"Claire, I can act like none of this happened. Get rid of the baby, and we can still have a good life."
Then at ten weeks, I started hemorrhaging.
By the time he got to the hospital, I'd already been wheeled out of the operating room. The nurse told him the baby was gone.
He stood at the foot of the bed, white as paper.
I thought he'd finally believe me.
But he turned to the doctor and asked, "Is the embryonic tissue still available? Can we request a DNA test?"
I took off my wedding ring.
"When the results come back, mail me the divorce papers."
As for whose baby it really was—that didn't matter to me anymore.
The nurse brought over the authorization form. I flipped to the last page and signed my name.
Ethan stared at me, like he hadn't expected me to agree so easily.
"Claire."
"Yours too." My voice was hoarse. The IV needle on the back of my hand trembled. "Sign it and get out. I want to sleep."
The doctor took the forms. "The embryonic tissue will be transferred to the testing facility. Results will take seven business days."
Ethan immediately pressed him. "Is the sample sufficient? Could it be contaminated?"
The doctor looked at him. "Standard procedures will be followed. Your wife just came out of surgery. She needs rest."
After the door closed, Ethan sat back down at my bedside. He pulled the blanket over my feet where they'd slipped out.
"Once the results come back, this will all be over."
I kept my eyes closed. "Yeah. Over."
He must have heard what I really meant. His hand froze on the edge of the blanket.
"I'm not trying to divorce you."
"I am."
"You're not well right now. Your emotions aren't stable. Don't rush into anything."
There it was again.
From the moment he got that test result, everything I said was written off as emotional. But every question he asked was just being careful. Just wanting the truth.
When the anesthesia wore off, my lower abdomen seized with cramps. I curled into myself, and Ethan hit the call button immediately, then crouched beside me and took my hand.
"The doctor's coming."
Three years of marriage, and he was still as gentle as the beginning. When I first got pregnant, I'd woken up at midnight craving tomato soup, and he drove halfway across the city to find the ingredients.
Now the baby was gone, and he sat by my side, but what weighed heaviest on his mind was whether it had carried his blood.
When I woke, it was dark. Ethan wasn't in the room.
Megan's voice drifted through the door. "At ten weeks, theoretically, yes. But it's so early—whether they can isolate the fetal DNA from the maternal sample depends on the specifics."
Ethan's voice was low. "So the result might not be accurate?"
"I can't guarantee anything." Megan went on. "Claire signed pretty fast. Maybe she's genuinely confident. Or maybe she already looked into it and knows this kind of sample doesn't always give a clear answer. The results aren't in yet—don't let her talk you out of it again."
A long silence. Then Ethan spoke. "She just lost the baby. Don't talk about her like that."
"Fine. I overstepped." Megan let out a soft scoff. "Since when have I not warned you before you fell on your face? She sheds a few tears, and suddenly I'm the enemy."
The door opened.
Megan walked in carrying a thermos, and when she saw I was awake, her step faltered.
"You heard?"
She didn't pretend. That much was like her.
"I heard."
Megan set the thermos down and turned to glare at Ethan. "I told you to close the door."
Ethan's expression hardened. "Go home."
"I spent two hours making this and brought it all the way here. Haven't even had a glass of water. Fine. I can tell when I'm not wanted."
She was halfway to the door when she looked back at me. "Claire, our lab really did check twice. You know what Ethan's dealing with."
I looked her in the eye. "One sample, examined once before centrifugation and once after—and you're calling that two separate tests?"
Megan's expression shifted.
"The results were the same both times. What's the difference?"
"You looked at one sample twice and made it sound like two separate analyses." I held her gaze. "Ethan believed it, so he decided I'd cheated. He wouldn't even acknowledge the baby."
Ethan put his hand on my shoulder. "Lie down first."
I pushed his hand away.
Megan stood by the door, biting her lip. "I was trying to help. If you want to treat me like the enemy, go ahead."
"Megan." Ethan stopped her. "Send me the full report."
She glared at him. "I sent it ages ago. Not my fault you didn't read it."
The door slammed shut.
Ethan pulled up the image Megan had sent. The screenshot cut off right at "no sperm observed after centrifugation." Whether there was anything below that line, you couldn't tell.
He placed his phone face-down on the table.
"I'll go pick it up myself tomorrow."
"Why not today?"
He looked at me but said nothing.
Because today, he already had his answer.
Wife pregnant. Husband sterile. What was there left to verify?
第2章
The next day, someone from pathology came to collect family medical history for the miscarriage screening.
After finishing with me, the doctor turned to Ethan.
"Any hereditary conditions on the father's side?"
Ethan thought for a moment. "If the father is someone else, would you need to contact him directly?"
The room went dead silent.
The doctor looked at him, then at me.
I grabbed the medical chart and hurled it at him. Pages scattered across the floor.
"The baby is gone. Who exactly are you trying to bring in to claim it?"
Ethan went white.
"I just wanted to know why we lost it."
"You won't even admit it's yours, and now you care why it's gone?"
He crouched down, picking up the pages one by one. The last sheet had gotten wet. He wiped it dry with his cuff.
"Because you were the one carrying it."
The doctor didn't ask any more questions. He gathered his materials and left.
Ethan clipped the chart back together and set it somewhere I couldn't reach.
"If you need to be angry, take it out on me. Don't hurt yourself."
I stared at the red mark on the back of his hand where the chart had struck him. All I felt was how absurd this was.
That afternoon, Megan sent over what she called the full explanation. It still contained nothing but test data.
I asked Ethan, "Didn't you say you'd go pick it up yourself?"
"The clinic doctor won't be back until next week. Megan photographed the paper report for me."
"You believe everything she says."
"She's worked in reproductive medicine for eight years."
"I'm your wife."
Ethan frowned. "Why are you comparing those two things?"
"I'd like to know that too." I stared at him. "Why does the fact that she works in reproductive medicine mean you believe her when she implies I cheated?"
"She never said you cheated."
"Then what exactly are you investigating right now?"
He looked away and flipped to my ultrasound report. "It says seven weeks here. That week I was out of town on business."
I froze.
"You think seven weeks and two days means I conceived seven weeks ago?"
"Doesn't it?"
"Gestational age is counted from the first day of the last period. Not from when we had sex."
"Megan said ultrasounds have a margin of error too."
He pulled up the calendar from two months ago.
"Then tell me—which days was I home and which days was I on night shifts?"
"Are you interrogating me?"
"I just want the dates to line up."
"And then what?"
"Then I'll stop asking."
I snatched his phone and turned off the screen. "You know exactly what time I leave for work and what time I come home every day. And now you want me to account for every single day, to prove I haven't slept with someone else?"
"I didn't say that."
"It's exactly what you're doing."
Ethan was quiet for a moment, then put his phone away.
"If you don't want to talk about it, we'll wait for the results."
My fever hit thirty-eight degrees. The surgical wound was showing signs of infection.
Ethan didn't sleep all night. In the small hours, when I was shaking with cold, he tucked my hands inside his shirt to warm them.
"Sleep. I'm here."
I was delirious with fever. I leaned into his arms.
I had leaned into those arms for six years.
When he wasn't making much money, he'd handed his bank account over for me to manage. When trying to conceive went nowhere month after month, he was the one who shielded me from his mother's questions.
I had been so certain—even if the whole world doubted me, Ethan would stand on my side.
But as I rested against his chest, I heard him texting Megan.
"She says the gestational age should be pushed back two weeks."
Megan replied almost instantly.
"Ultrasounds have margins of error. She can spin it however she wants now. Just wait for the test."
I was wide awake.
I sat up and pulled away from him.
He touched my forehead. "Still cold?"
"No."
"Then get some more sleep."
I turned to face the wall.
After dawn, I was discharged. Ethan wrapped my scarf for me. On the drive home, he held my hand the whole way.
I watched the city slide past the window. I didn't pull away, but I didn't hold his hand back either.
第3章
When we got home, I found the nursery had been emptied.
The crib, the clothes, the bottles—everything packed into cardboard boxes and stacked against the wall.
Ethan came in behind me. "I didn't want you seeing all of it. I put things away."
"Where's the ultrasound photo?"
He hesitated. "Megan took it to check the gestational age."
I turned to face him. "That was the only picture of the baby."
"Once this is all sorted out, I'll get it back."
"And if the result isn't what you're hoping for?"
Ethan was quiet.
"Keeping it would only make you feel worse."
There were still adhesive marks on the wall where the decorations had been. So even the right to grieve my child had to wait until he confirmed the bloodline.
He stayed home with me for two days. Cooked during the day, held a warm compress to my belly at night. When I couldn't eat, he'd reheat the food and try again. If I woke in pain, the bedside lamp would click on and he'd already be walking in from the living room.
"Hurting again?"
I nodded.
Ethan let me lean against his shoulder, his palm flat against my lower belly. After a while, he said, "The doctor says the report will take a bit longer."
I closed my eyes and nearly asked him—could you please just set the report aside for now?
Just one sentence. "I believe you." That would have been enough.
The next morning, I found a hand-drawn chart on the dining table.
It listed the first day of my last period, his travel and overtime schedule, and every prenatal appointment. A red line circled four days. On two of those days, he hadn't been home.
I carried the chart into the kitchen.
Ethan was turning off the stove.
"You made this?"
He glanced at it. His hand slowed as he ladled the soup. "No matter how I calculate it, I'm off by a few days."
"So?"
"Tell me the exact date."
"I already told you—you can't calculate gestational age that way."
"Then explain it to me again."
He set down the ladle.
"Claire, I've been losing my mind too. You could clear this up in one sentence. Why do you have to fight me on this?"
"I said the baby is yours. Doesn't that count as one sentence?"
"I need a date."
"I don't remember exactly when it happened. We were together several times that month."
I tore the paper in half.
Ethan bent to pick up the pieces. His voice dropped. "The more you act like this, the harder it is for me to believe you."
"I've already told you. The baby is yours."
"But the report is right here."
"If you've got the report, why are you still asking me?"
He went still.
I pulled free of his hand and threw the torn paper into the trash.
The doorbell rang.
Megan stood outside holding a document envelope. She reached into the lower shelf of the shoe cabinet and pulled out a pair of gray slippers with the ease of someone who'd done it before.
I had never seen those slippers.
I looked at her. "Yours?"
Megan's hand paused, then she stepped into them.
"I came by to drop off paperwork while you were in the hospital. Ethan could hardly let me walk around barefoot."
Ethan came out of the kitchen. "Give me the documents and go."
"I just got off a night shift. Haven't even had a sip of water. You two are fighting and somehow that's my problem?"
She bent down and fished out the torn half of the date chart from the trash.
"What's the point of calculating this? Just wait for the results."
I snatched it back. "Who told you to touch that?"
Megan straightened up.
"Claire, why are you taking this out on me? I didn't write the report, and I'm not the one who got pregnant."
"Then why is my ultrasound photo in your hands?"
"Ethan couldn't read it. I took a look for him."
"If he can't read it, he can ask the OB."
"Neither of you will budge. What am I supposed to do, sit back and watch this family fall apart?"
She pulled the ultrasound photo from the envelope. The corner had been creased, leaving a white line.
I took it from her and carefully smoothed it flat.
Megan watched me. "Claire, Ethan has bent over backward for you. Any other man, seeing a report like that—would he have even bothered taking care of you through the discharge?"
"Should I be thanking him?"
"Do you have to treat everyone like the enemy?"
"Megan!"
Ethan pulled the envelope out of her hands.
"That's enough."
She laughed. "Every time. You ask me to come, and the second something goes wrong, you tell me I talk too much."
I looked at Ethan.
"You asked her to come?"
"I asked her to bring the report."
"You couldn't have sent it by phone?"
"Paper is clearer."
Megan picked up her bag. "Fine. I'm leaving. If Ethan can put up with even this, I don't know why I bother."
After the door closed, I took the ultrasound photo and slipped it into my wallet. Then I pulled out the printed divorce agreement.
Ethan flipped through two pages and closed it. "The results aren't in yet."
"This has nothing to do with the results."
"It does for me."
"If the baby is yours, what are you going to do?"
He looked at me. "I'll apologize. However you want me to make it up to you."
"And if it's not?"
"Tell me who it is, and we put this behind us."
I laughed.
Ethan's frown deepened. "I've already given this much ground. What more do you want?"
"Sign."
"Absolutely not."
He locked the agreement in the drawer. "Until your body has recovered, I'm not discussing divorce."
"Give me the key."
"Claire, stop this."
I grabbed a glass and hurled it at the drawer. It shattered across the floor. The drawer didn't open.
Ethan lifted me away from the broken glass. I clawed at his arm, leaving streaks of blood. He didn't let go.
"You can hit me. Curse at me. Anything. Just let your body heal first."
