THEY MOCKED MY BABY DURING DINNER SO I GAVE TGEM A DOCUMENT TGAT SILENCED THEM
Episode 2✅
I made excuses like many wives do when they’re not ready to face the truth. But tonight, this public humiliation in front of people whose respect I’d sought for years was a boundary I refused to let be crossed. I glanced at the table. Gloria’s smile was cold and satisfied. David was reaching for the wine, clearly comfortable with what had happened. Mon’nique whispered to her husband, probably planning how to spread this gossip. And Marcus, my husband, and Elijah’s father, avoided my eyes and fixated on the pattern of his plate.
The silence stretched like a chasm. They waited for me to break down, to cry, to make a scene. They wanted drama so they could comfort each other about poor Marcus being married to an unstable woman. But inside, I found clarity. I wasn’t giving them that satisfaction. I wasn’t begging for their approval or defending myself against lies. I was going to do something better.
I stood slowly, deliberately. The scrape of my chair on the hardwood was loud in the sudden quiet. Every eye followed me as I smoothed my dress and walked toward the bedroom with calm certainty. Behind me, murmurs began, guessing if I’d pack, call my mother, or hide away to cry. They didn’t know I was walking to a moment that would change everything. In my jewelry box, under the pearls Marcus had given me for our anniversary, lay a plain white envelope. I’d been holding this secret for months, waiting for the right moment.
Tonight, surrounded by people who thought they knew my life better than I did, was that moment. When I returned, envelope in hand, I would show what happens when you underestimate a woman who’s finally had enough. That Tuesday morning in July had been the breaking point. Elijah was napping and I found Marcus in the kitchen scrolling through his phone with that distant look that had become more frequent lately. When I suggested taking a family photo for Elijah’s baby book, he flinched. “Maybe when he’s older,” he muttered without looking up. “When his features are more defined.”
His words felt like a slap, like Elijah was some incomplete sketch, not the perfect child he was. After Marcus left for work that afternoon, I sat on the bedroom floor with my laptop, researching DNA testing facilities. Not those at-home kits that everyone advertised. Too casual, too unreliable for something this serious. I wanted clinical accuracy, official documentation, undeniable proof. I picked Riverside Genetics because it was far enough from our neighborhood that I wouldn’t risk running into anyone I knew.
The building was sterile and unremarkable, tucked between a dental office and a tax prep service in a strip mall that could have been anywhere. Dr. Simmons greeted me with kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She looked to be in her 50s with streaks of gray in her hair and the calm patience of someone used to hearing all kinds of family stories. “Are you certain about this?” she asked gently but firmly. “Sometimes the truth creates more problems than uncertainty.”
I thought about her warning for three seconds before nodding. “I have to know.” Collecting the samples felt surreal, like gathering evidence for a crime I hadn’t committed. Elijah’s hair came from his brush, golden and fine, nearly weightless. I wrapped the strands carefully in tissue, hands shaking as I sealed the container. Marcus’ toothbrush was harder to get and harder to accept. At 5:00 in the morning, I stood in our bathroom, scraping bristles into a plastic bag, feeling like a stranger in my own home.
BELOW 👇👇👇
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