The Day I Miscarried, He Demanded a Paternity Test

The day I found out I was pregnant, my husband found out he was sterile. He smoked an entire pack of cigarettes on the balcony. When he finally walked back into the bedroom, he looked at me, deadpan, and asked, "Who's the father?" "It's yours, Sean! Of course it's yours!" I pleaded. Sean didn't say another word. But I saw the fury and complete distrust burning in his eyes. After that day, he still drove me to work. He still went with me to my prenatal checkups. But every single time we came home from the clinic, he would ask, "When are you going to schedule the abortion?" I told him a thousand times that the baby was his. He would only shake his head, wrap his arms around me in a helpless hug, and say: "Chloe, I can pretend none of this ever happened. Just get rid of the baby, and we can go back to how we were." Until the tenth week, when I suddenly started bleeding heavily. By the time he rushed to the hospital, I had just been wheeled out of the operating room. The nurse told him we lost the baby. He stood by my hospital bed, his face completely pale. I thought he would finally believe me now. Instead, he turned to the doctor and asked, "Can we still do a paternity test on the tissue after a miscarriage?" I slipped off my wedding ring and let out a cold laugh. "Once the results are out, mail me the divorce papers." As for who the father was? To me, it didn't matter anymore. 1 The nurse handed over the authorization form. I flipped to the last page and signed my name. Sean stared at me, clearly shocked by how decisive I was. "Chloe." "Sign yours too." My voice was raspy. The IV needle in the back of my hand trembled slightly. "Sign it and get out. I want to sleep." The doctor took the form. "The tissue will be sent to the lab. It takes seven business days." Sean pressed further, "Is the sample size enough? Is there any risk of contamination?" The doctor looked up at him, a frown creasing his forehead. "We follow strict protocols, sir. Your wife just got out of surgery. She needs to rest." The heavy hospital door clicked shut. Sean sat back down by the bed. He pulled the blanket over my exposed feet. "Once the results are back, this will all be over." I closed my eyes. "Yeah. Over." He must have caught the double meaning in my words. His hand froze on the blanket. "I don't want a divorce." "I do." "You're going through a lot right now. Don't make emotional decisions." There it was again. Ever since he got his fertility report, every word I said was labeled as "emotional." Yet, every accusing question he asked was called "cautious"—just a man looking for the "truth." As the anesthesia wore off, a sharp, cramping pain bloomed in my lower abdomen. I curled inward. Sean immediately hit the call button and knelt beside me, grabbing my hand. "The doctor is coming. Hang in there." In our three years of marriage, he had always been this gentle. But now, our baby was gone, and he was staying by my side only because he was obsessed with finding out if the blood on the sheets belonged to him. When I woke up again, the room was dark. Sean wasn't in the room. Through the cracked door, I heard the voice of his childhood friend, Rachel Davis. "Ten weeks is technically doable. But with a sample that small, it's hard to completely rule out maternal DNA contamination. It depends." Sean's voice was deep and tense. "So the results might not be accurate?" "I can't give you a one hundred percent guarantee." Rachel sighed. "Chloe was so quick to sign that paper. Maybe she's actually confident. Or maybe she looked it up beforehand and knows the lab might not be able to get a clear result. Don't let her sweet-talk you back before the report even comes out." After a long silence, Sean spoke. "She just lost the baby, Rachel. Stop talking like that." "Fine, my bad." Rachel let out a mock sigh. "I've been looking out for you since we were kids. Every time you're about to make a fool of yourself, I warn you. But the moment she sheds a couple of tears, you turn on me!" The door pushed open. Rachel walked in holding a Tupperware container. When she saw my eyes open, she paused for a fraction of a second. "You heard us?" She didn't even try to pretend. I'll give her that. She was consistent. "I heard." Rachel set the container on the table and glared at Sean. "I told you to shut the door!" Sean's face darkened. "You should leave, Rachel." "I spent two hours making this soup and brought it all the way here, and I haven't even had a sip of water. Fine, guess I'm the third wheel." She walked to the door, then turned around. "Chloe, our lab ran his test twice. You know exactly what Sean's medical situation is." I looked her dead in the eye. "Running the same sample through the centrifuge twice counts as two separate tests now?" Rachel's face shifted. "The results were the same. What difference does it make?" "You took one sample, looked at it twice, and told him he was completely sterile." I stared at her. "And Sean believed you. He decided I cheated on him and refused to acknowledge his own child." Sean placed a hand on my shoulder. "Just lie down, please." I pushed his hand away. Rachel stood by the door, biting her lip. "I was just trying to help you guys. If you want to treat me like the villain, go ahead!" "Rachel," Sean called after her. "Send me the full lab report." She rolled her eyes. "I already did on Snapchat. You just didn't bother to read it." The door slammed shut. Sean pulled out his phone and opened the screenshot Rachel had sent him. It was cropped right below the line: No sperm detected after centrifugation. Anything below that was cut off. He put his phone face down on the table. "I'll go get the physical copy from the clinic tomorrow." "Why didn't you go today?" He looked at me and said nothing. Because today, he already had his answer. His wife was pregnant. He was sterile. To him, there was nothing left to double-check. 2 The next day, a nurse came in to fill out the medical history form for the miscarriage. After asking me a few questions, she turned to Sean. "Is there any genetic history of illness on the paternal side?" Sean thought about it, then asked, "If the father is someone else, do we need to contact him for his history?" The room went dead silent. The nurse looked back and forth between us. I grabbed the medical clipboard from the bedside table and threw it straight at his chest. Papers scattered all over the floor. "The baby is dead, Sean! Who are you trying to call to identify the body?!" Sean's face went white. "I just want to know why we couldn't save it." "You won't even admit it was yours! Why do you care why it died?!" He knelt down, picking up the loose papers one by one. The last page was wet from spilled water. Sean used his sleeve to gently wipe it dry. "Because you were the one carrying it." The nurse didn't ask any more questions. She gathered her things and quickly left. Sean neatly clipped the papers back together and placed the board on a high shelf, far out of my reach. "Take your anger out on me. Just don't hurt yourself." I looked at the red scratch on his hand from where the clipboard had hit him. It felt incredibly surreal. In the afternoon, Rachel sent him what she claimed was the "full explanation." It was still just raw lab data. I asked him, "I thought you were going to the clinic yourself?" "The attending doctor is out until next week. Rachel sent over the digital copy of the paper release." "You believe everything she says." "She's been working in the urology and fertility clinic for eight years." "I'm your wife." Sean frowned. "Why are you comparing those two things?" "I'd like to know too." I stared at him. "Just because she works in a fertility clinic, she tells you I cheated, and you believe her over me?" "She never said you cheated." "Then what are you doing right now?" He avoided my gaze and flipped to my ultrasound report. "The ultrasound says seven weeks. Seven weeks ago, I was out of town in Chicago." I froze. "You think 'seven weeks and two days' means we conceived exactly seven weeks ago?" "Doesn't it?" "It's calculated from the first day of my last period, Sean. Not the actual day we had sex." "Rachel said the ultrasound machine can have a margin of error." He pulled up the calendar from two months ago. "Then you tell me. Which days was I home, and which days was I on the night shift?" "Are you interrogating me?" "I just want the dates to make sense." "And once they do?" "Then I'll stop asking." I snatched his phone and locked the screen. "You know exactly what time I go to work and what time I get home every single day. Now you want me to account for every hour of my life just to prove I didn't sleep with someone else?" "I didn't say that." "But that's exactly what you're doing." Sean was silent for a moment before taking his phone back. "If you don't want to talk, we'll just wait for the lab results." That night, my fever spiked to 101 degrees, and my surgical wound got slightly infected. Sean didn't sleep a wink. Around dawn, when I was shivering violently, he tucked my freezing hands inside his shirt against his warm chest. "Shh, go to sleep. I'm right here." Delirious with fever, I leaned into him. I had leaned into this chest for six years. Back when he only made $4,000 a month, he handed his entire bank card over to me. When we were struggling to conceive, he was the one who stood up to his mother's constant nagging. I used to be so sure that even if the whole world doubted me, Sean would stand by my side. But as I lay against his chest, I heard his phone buzz. He was replying to Rachel. She says the gestational age is calculated differently. It should be pushed back two weeks. Rachel replied almost instantly: Ultrasounds have errors. She can spin it however she wants right now. Just wait for the DNA test. I woke up completely. I sat up, pulling away from his warmth. He touched my forehead. "Still cold?" "No." "Go back to sleep then." I turned my back to him, facing the cold wall. When I was discharged the next morning, Sean wrapped my scarf gently around my neck. He held my hand the entire drive home. I looked out the window. I didn't pull my hand away, but I didn't hold it back either. 3 When we got home, I realized the nursery had been completely cleared out. The crib, the baby clothes, and the bottles were all packed into cardboard boxes, stacked in the corner. Sean followed me in. "I didn't want you to look at them and get sad, so I packed them up." "Where is the ultrasound photo?" He hesitated. "Rachel took it to double-check the gestational dating." I spun around. "That was the only picture I had of my baby." "Once everything is cleared up, I'll get it back." "And if the results aren't what you want?" Sean was silent for a long moment. "Keeping it would only make you miserable anyway." The tape outlines were still fresh on the wall. Apparently, even my right to mourn my own child had to wait until he verified the DNA. He stayed home with me for the next two days. He cooked every meal and kept a warm compress on my stomach at night. When I couldn't eat, he'd go back into the kitchen and make something else. In the middle of the night, when I woke up crying from the pain, the bedside lamp would instantly click on. He'd rush in from the living room. "Does it hurt again?" I nodded. Sean let me lean against his shoulder, his warm palm gently pressing against my lower abdomen. "The doctor said the lab report is going to take a bit longer." I closed my eyes. I was so close to asking him if he could just forget the report. Just one word of trust. That was all I needed. The next morning, I found a hand-drawn timeline on the dining table. It had my last period, his business trips, his night shifts, and every prenatal appointment mapped out. Four days were circled in red. Two of those days, he hadn't been home. I walked into the kitchen carrying the paper. Sean was turning off the stove. "Did you draw this?" He glanced at it, his hand on the soup ladle slowing down. "No matter how I calculate it, the dates are off by a few days." "So?" "Just tell me the exact date we conceived." "I've told you a hundred times, Sean. You cannot calculate pregnancy weeks that way." "Then tell me again." He set the ladle down. "Chloe, I'm losing my mind too. You could clear this up with one simple explanation. Why do you have to fight me on this?" "I told you the baby is yours. Isn't that a simple explanation?" "I need dates!" "I don't remember the exact day! We had sex multiple times that month!" I ripped the paper in half. Sean bent down to pick up the pieces, his voice dropping low. "The more you act like this, the harder it is for me to believe you." "I already told you. The baby was yours." "But the lab report says I'm sterile!" "If you trust the report so much, why are you asking me anything?!" He froze. I ripped my hand out of his grip and threw the torn paper into the trash can. Right then, the doorbell rang. Rachel was standing outside with a manila envelope. She walked in and smoothly slid her feet into a pair of grey slippers from the bottom of our shoe rack. Slippers I had never seen before. "Are those yours?" I asked. Rachel paused, then stepped fully into them. "I brought some paperwork over while you were in the hospital. Sean couldn't just let me walk around barefoot, right?" Sean came out of the kitchen. "Give me the envelope, Rachel, and go home." "I just finished a twelve-hour shift and haven't even had a glass of water. Why are you guys taking your marital drama out on me?" She looked down and spotted the torn paper in the trash. "What's the point of calculating dates? Just wait for the DNA results." I snatched the paper out of the trash. "Who gave you permission to touch that?" Rachel straightened up. "Chloe, why are you snapping at me? I didn't write the fertility report, and I wasn't the one who got pregnant." "Then why is my baby's ultrasound photo in your hands?" "Sean couldn't make sense of the dating, so I took a look for him." "If he couldn't understand it, he could have asked my OB-GYN." "One of you is obsessed with logic, and the other is just stubborn. If I didn't step in, you guys would have burned this house down by now." She pulled the ultrasound photo out of her bag. The corner of the photo was creased with a white line. I took it from her and carefully tried to smooth it out. "Chloe, Sean has been more than patient with you," Rachel said, crossing her arms. "Any other guy who saw a report like that wouldn't have even picked you up from the hospital." "Oh, so I should thank him?" 4 "Rachel!" Sean snatched the envelope from her hand. "That's enough." She laughed. "It's always like this. You ask me to come over, and then you blame me for talking too much when things go south." I turned to Sean. "You invited her over?" "I asked her to bring the physical copy of the report." "You couldn't get a digital copy?" "The paper copy is clearer." Rachel grabbed her purse. "Fine, I'm leaving. Honestly, Sean, if you're willing to wear a green cheat-hat this easily, why do I even bother caring?" Once the front door slammed closed, I tucked the ultrasound photo into my wallet and pulled out a pre-printed divorce agreement. Sean flipped through two pages and shut it. "The lab results aren't even back yet." "This has nothing to do with the results." "It does to me." "If the baby is yours, what then?" He stared at me. "I'll apologize. I'll make it up to you. I'll do whatever you want." "And if it's not?" "Just tell me who the guy is, and we can put this behind us." I actually laughed out loud. Sean's eyebrows knit tightly. "I've already compromised this much, Chloe. What more do you want?" "Sign the papers." "No way." He locked the agreement inside his desk drawer. "I am not talking about divorce until your body is fully recovered." "Give me the key." "Chloe, stop throwing a tantrum." I grabbed a heavy glass mug from the counter and smashed it against the drawer. Glass shattered everywhere, but the drawer remained locked. Sean grabbed me and pulled me away from the shards. My fingernails dug into his arms, leaving angry red scratches. He didn't let go. "You can hit me, you can scream at me. Just get some rest first." That night, Sean stayed in his study until very late. I got up to find some painkillers. Through the crack in the study door, I heard his voice on the phone with Rachel. "Are you sure about this? If the kid really isn't yours, you're still going to stay with her?" Sean was leaning back in his chair, staring at the divorce papers. "Yes." "Unbelievable. You won't feel disgusted every time you look at her?" "The baby is gone, Rachel." Rachel was quiet for a second. "And what about the other guy?" "If she tells me the truth, I won't pursue it." "Sean, what are you getting out of this?" He lowered his head, his thumb rubbing over my signature on the page. "We've been together for six years." "So?" "I can't lose her." Rachel scoffed. "You're not building a marriage. You're worshiping a goddess." "Think whatever you want." "She's using divorce to scare you right now. Once the DNA test comes back, she's going to hold this over your head for the rest of your life." "She won't actually leave." "You're that sure?" "She loves me too much to let go." Sean did know me well. I loved our six years together. I loved the man I thought he was, and I loved the baby that had only existed for ten weeks. But he forgot one thing: when you push someone to the point where "love" is the only thing keeping them there, that love quickly turns into resentment. I went back to the bedroom, pulled out my suitcase, and started packing. The sound of the zipper sliding shut brought Sean running from the study. "What are you doing?" "Moving out." He looked at my suitcase, then glanced toward the hallway. "You heard what I said on the phone?" "Yes." "And you're still leaving?" Sean grabbed the handle of my suitcase. "No matter what the test says, I'm not letting you go." I looked at the bloodshot veins in his eyes, and the scratches on his arm. He really was terrified of me leaving. He really did love me. But the Chloe he loved was a woman who had allegedly carried another man's child, lied about it, acted stubborn, and had to rely on his saint-like mercy to save her marriage. Even though that other man didn't exist. "Sean, even now, you still think this is about whether you want me or not." He gripped the handle tighter. "Just wait two days. Two days for the results." "If the baby wasn't yours, you'd be keeping a liar you graciously forgave." "I told you I wouldn't hold it against you!" "And what if the baby is yours?" His lips parted, but no sound came out for a second. "I'll beg for your forgiveness." I let out a bitter laugh. "And I'm supposed to just go on living with a husband who asked for a paternity test on our dead baby before he even asked if I was okay?" The color drained from Sean's face. "My mind was a mess." "Are you thinking clearly now?" He had no answer. Because the results weren't back yet. I pried his fingers off the suitcase handle, one by one. "No matter what the test says, I have absolutely no reason to stay." Sean chased me to the elevator. "Go stay at your parents' place for a couple of days. I'll come get you once the report is out." I pressed the button to close the doors. "Don't come." "Then when are you coming back?" The elevator doors slowly slid shut. "I'm not."