The Wife's Secret

The day my wife gave birth was the day I learned the child wasn’t mine.
I overheard her and her mother talking in the hospital room. Her mother hissed, “I told you to get rid of it. What will you do when Steven finds out?”
My wife replied weakly, “What his father did doesn’t matter. I married into the Smiths. Let me keep this one piece of Evan. Once the baby is born, I’ll give Steven a true heir. He’ll forgive me.”
Each word felt like ice. I stood frozen outside, then walked away silently.
I waited until she delivered healthy twins. As congratulations filled the room, my grandfather’s assistant, Mr. Carter, arrived sternly.
“The Smith family has a tradition,” he announced. “All newborns must take a paternity test immediately.”
Amanda’s face went pale.

1
"That… is that really necessary? They're so tiny, just born. A test would be so hard on them! Steven… tell them, wouldn't it?"
I stood at the back of the crowd, watching as she turned those familiar, heart-melting eyes on me. In the past, a single look like that could make me surrender any principle, cross any line.
But the words I'd overheard—those gut-wrenching, treacherous words—were still ringing in my ears, making her current performance a bitter farce.
"It's tradition. No one is exempt," I said, my voice perfectly calm, devoid of any ripple of emotion. My gaze swept coolly over the stunned faces in the room. "Mr. Carter, please arrange for the samples to be taken now. Deliver the results directly to this room as soon as they're ready."
A dead silence fell over the room.
Relatives exchanged uneasy glances, the air crackling with a tension so thick you could taste it. Everyone sensed something was terribly wrong, but no one dared to speak.
Amanda's fingers dug into the bedsheets, her knuckles turning white. She bit her lip, her voice trembling with disbelief as she challenged me.
"Steven Smith, what is the meaning of this? Do you really trust me so little?!"
Her eyes, rimmed with red, locked onto mine, a perfect portrait of a wounded heart. Even now, at the bitter end, she was still trying to play me.
A ghost of a cold smile touched my lips. "I'm simply following the rules. Unless… unless you have a reason to be afraid, Amanda? Do you already know, deep down, that these children aren't mine?"
Before she could answer, her mother rushed forward, trying to smooth things over. "Steven, of course, the children are yours! But if it’s a Smith family rule, then let's do it. It will put everyone's mind at ease."
She shot Amanda a warning look, then carefully lifted the baby boy and handed him to a nurse.
The wait for the results felt like an eternity. Time stretched and warped, each second a slow-motion torment.
Amanda sat bolt upright in her bed, her eyes red-rimmed and restless. She stared at me, the tension building until she finally snapped.
"I went through hell to give you these children, Steven, and this is how you treat me? Don't you have a conscience?!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "There's another Smith family rule, isn't there? The one that says if the father waives the test, no one can force it! Have you even thought about how this will make the children look? What will people say when they find out their own father suspected them from birth?! What are you turning them into?!"
She was a master of turning the tables, of painting herself as the victim. Willing to deceive me, to pass off another man's children as my own, all for him. Did she really think I was that much of a fool?
The last embers of warmth in my heart turned to ash.
"If they were my children," I said, my voice dangerously low, "why would you be so hysterical?"
"You dare talk to me about a conscience? Amanda, can you put your hand on your own heart and tell me you haven't been living a lie?"
"Don't you forget," I added, each word a deliberate blow, "when your reputation was in tatters and your family was on the brink of ruin, you were on your knees, begging me to marry you."
Amanda fell silent. The tears vanished as if they had never been there.
Yes. It all came back to him. Her lover. Evan.
She was still in college when she got tangled up with him—the "son of a murderer," as the tabloids called him. She'd stood in his filthy, cramped apartment, holding his hand in front of the flashing cameras, and declared to the world: "Even if he's a killer's son, I love him."
The scandal rocked the city, from the tabloids to the highest circles of society. The Vance family heiress, hopelessly devoted to a convict's son. Was it bravery or sheer stupidity?
The fallout was immediate and catastrophic. Vance Industries' stock plummeted. A nationwide boycott erupted against their products, the public furious that they'd raised a "murderer's girlfriend." In a week, the company was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy.
That was when she came to me. Her fiancé since childhood.
I could have thrown the headlines in her face. Everyone in our circle knew that getting involved with her was social suicide, a public disgrace.
But when I looked into her tear-filled eyes… I folded.
Looking back now, it feels like I willingly drank the poison she offered.
Just then, the door opened. Mr. Carter walked in, holding the freshly printed, expedited report. His eyes met mine for a split second before he handed me the folder.
My face was a mask of indifference as I flipped it open, my eyes jumping straight to the conclusion.
Analysis Conclusion: The paternal relationship between Steven Smith and the child is supported. Probability of Paternity: 99.9999%.

2
A poorly concealed smirk of triumph bloomed on my mother-in-law's face. She bustled over to my side, her voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. "See? I told you! Our Amanda would never do such a thing! Now you can finally rest easy, Steven."

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