THE DOCTOR GAVE ME THE RESULTS, AND MY SISTER STARED AT THE FLOOR
My hand trembled as the doctor slid the thick envelope across the cold, sterile desk. He adjusted his glasses, a deliberate motion that made my stomach churn. Outside, the waiting room buzzed with muffled conversations and the squeak of children’s shoes.
“The genetic markers,” he began, his voice flat, “indicate a significant anomaly we need to discuss.” Lena sat rigid beside me, her knuckles white. I just kept staring at the bolded words on the top page: ‘Patient A: No Match.’
A sudden, acrid smell of disinfectant filled the air, making me lightheaded. A cold dread spread through my chest. Lena finally looked up, her eyes wide and pleading. “You can’t tell him, Sarah,” she choked out, barely a whisper.
My son’s face flashed in my mind – his bright smile, his endless questions. This couldn’t be happening. Just as I started to grasp what Lena meant, the clinic door swung open with a soft sigh.
A familiar voice, too cheerful, called out, “Are we ready for our big shot, champ?”
👇 Full story continued in the comments…My legs felt like lead. I tried to speak, to form the words that would make this a nightmare, a bad dream I could shake off. But my throat was locked. The doctor, oblivious to the tension, nodded towards the doorway.
“Ah, there he is,” he said with a small smile. “Perhaps we should include him in this discussion.”
My son, Michael, skipped into the room, his small hand clutching a brightly coloured lollipop. His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were fixed on the syringe the nurse held. He beamed at me, then at Lena, before his gaze landed on the doctor.
“Ready, champ?” The doctor asked Michael gently. He was a kind man, always joking with the children. But the jovial facade now seemed grotesque, like a painted smile on a skull.
The nurse approached with the needle. Michael, though momentarily distracted by the lollipop, became still as stone. He glanced back at me and then at Lena, before looking at the doctor again. Suddenly, he frowned, his face scrunching up in confusion.
“Where’s Daddy?” he asked. “Daddy always comes with me for shots.”
The question hung in the air. I stared at Lena, now pale as a ghost, her eyes darting around the room. The doctor cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.
“Well,” he started, glancing between us. “Perhaps your father is just running a little late. Let’s get this done, and he can join us afterward.”
I found my voice, finally, breaking through the paralysis. “No!” I choked out, my voice hoarse. “Wait…stop.”
I stood up, my legs shaky. “Lena,” I said, my voice cracking with the weight of the truth, “tell him.”
Lena’s shoulders slumped. Tears welled in her eyes and slowly trickled down her cheeks. She turned to Michael, her face etched with a mixture of pain and love.
“Michael,” she began, her voice barely audible. “Honey, I… I am your mother. Not Sarah.”
The world tilted. Michael’s eyes widened with confusion, then slowly, understanding dawned. He looked from Lena to me, his small face twisted with a mixture of fear and betrayal.
The doctor, finally understanding the situation, looked from one of us to the other. He looked back at the results, now looking shocked. He coughed and looked down, as the nurse put down the syringe.
“I am so, so sorry,” the doctor said quietly.
Michael, seeing the confusion on his mother’s face, turned to me. “Sarah, is this true? Who is my real Mom?”
He looked back at Lena again, the question unasked but present in his eyes, and the three of us, stood in the silence of the clinic, a broken family, trying to find their way through the wreckage of lies and the shattering of trust. The clinic door closed behind us and the world outside seemed much more dangerous.