Everyone with common sense looked confused, since my kid obviously looked like Ben.
But Karen was sitting in the armchair with a smug little smile.
She must’ve been sure I was some horrible woman.
So, I opened the envelope and produced the documents. “And guess what?” I said. “He’s 100% Ben’s kid.” Karen’s little smile faded.
“But that’s not all,” Ben chimed in, standing from the couch and getting another envelope from his desk drawer.
“Since we were doing DNA tests anyway,” I explained, “we figured we’d check if Ben’s related to his dad too.”
Karen’s face turned ghost-white while her jaw dropped. “What?!” she gasped after a second.
“Seemed only fair,” I said. “Under the circumstances, right?”
The room went quiet as Ben opened the second envelope. We hadn’t even taken a peek. But my husband stared at the paper way longer than I expected, blinking a bunch.
“Dad…” he said, gulping. “Turns out, I’m not your son.”
Gasps echoed across the room. Karen stood up so fast that the chair nearly tipped over.
“You had NO RIGHT—” she yelled, coming at me.
But Ben stood between us with one hand up to stop her.
“You accused my wife of cheating, Mom,” he snapped. “Turns out, you were projecting.”
Karen looked around at everyone staring, then burst into tears and dropped back into her chair, sobbing.
That was the only sound for a minute, then Ben’s dad slowly stood up. He didn’t say a word. Just walked to the table, grabbed his keys, and left.
Karen called for days afterward. Morning, afternoon, sometimes late at night. We didn’t answer. I didn’t want to hear the crying, or the excuses, or whatever version of the truth she was ready to spin.
But the silence wasn’t easy either. And now that the DNA thing was over, the real problem surfaced: our marriage.
It wasn’t just Karen who’d hurt me. Ben had asked for the test too.
He hadn’t stood up to her. He hadn’t said, “No, Mom, don’t be ridiculous.” That part stung the most.
He felt awful about it, though. He’d apologized more times than I could count, and not in that rushed, guilty way, but like he really meant it.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said one night. “I just… didn’t want to fight her. Didn’t want to believe she’d say that without a reason. I was stupid.”
Even though I know others would’ve walked away from this relationship, I decided on therapy. For several weeks, we sat in a little office with beige walls and a box of tissues on the table between us, saying the hard stuff.
“It’s not just the DNA test,” I told him during one session. “It’s the lack of trust. You didn’t believe me, even though I’d never given you a reason to doubt me.”
He nodded, eyes wet. “I know. I messed up. I’ll never doubt you again.”
He’s kept that promise, so far. I have to give him that.
It didn’t happen overnight, but over time, we worked through it. He listened more. He defended me. He shut down comments from his mom’s family, who were trying to get us to talk to her.
Finally, I forgave him fully, not because I forgot, but because he owned up to his wrongs.
But the relationship with Karen is almost completely broken. I tried listening to a voicemail, and it was full of lazy excuses and guilt trips.
I deleted it before the end, and we’ve blocked her since.
Ben’s dad filed for divorce not long after the party. I don’t know what was said between them, but he stopped speaking to Karen, too.
Without her, he began visiting us more, and nothing’s changed between him and Ben. Luckily.
Meanwhile, our son kept growing, laughing, babbling, and learning to walk by gripping the edge of the coffee table.
And the DNA paperwork, both results, are still in a drawer somewhere. We haven’t looked at them again.