Accusations, one right after another, came from the family members gathered in front of the delivery room upon the arrival of the baby with dark skin. Both my wife and I are white, so the thought of betrayal was the first that came to everyone’s mind.

What was supposed to be the happiest day of our lives, after years of trying to become parents, was overshadowed by the thoughts of betrayal by my wife’s side.

I was inside the delivery room, awaiting to finally hold my baby girl in my arms, while the rest of the family was waiting outside, ready to get inside once they heard the little one’s cry.

And then, after all the exhaustion, our little bundle of joy came into the world.

The nurse took it and tried to place it in Stephanie’s embrace, but my wife’s screams made everything shift.

“No, that’s not my baby,” she yelled.

At that moment, I looked at my daughter, a baby with dark skin.

Unable to control my words, I said, “What the hell, Stephanie.

“It’s not mine,” Stephanie kept saying over and over again. But how could it not be? The umbilical cord was still attached. It was the baby she gave birth to, but it wasn’t white as the two of us.

“Please, you have to trust me, Brent. I have never been with another man, not ever in my life.”

As I felt like I was losing the ground under my feet, some of the family members started making comments, making the entire situation even worse.

I didn’t know what to think. “Was Stephanie having an affair with someone?” I kept asking myself. “If not, how could she give birth to a baby with dark skin and curly black hair?

“Stephanie, this doesn’t make sense,” I said as she begged me to trust her and stay.

At that moment, I took a close look at the baby. She did have dark skin, but she had my eyes, my smile, and the same dimples on her cheeks.

I needed time to think about everything so I left the room, assuring Stephanie I won’t leave her until I get to the bottom of the story.

She was someone whom I trusted the most in my life. Should I trust her this time?

At the end of the hall stood my mother. She had that expression on the face that reminded me of the times I was still a child and found myself in trouble. She looked as though she was about to tell me off.

“Brent, you can’t stay with her,” she said. “Don’t be naive. Your wife has betrayed you and you need to accept that fact. No matter how much you love her, you can’t ignore the truth.”

Honestly, I was confused. The baby’s eyes and dimples told me she could be mine, but my mom’s words planted the seed of doubt even deeper.

Couple of hours later, I returned to Stephanie’s room. She and the sweet baby with a dark skin were waiting for me

Stephanie, exhausted from giving birth and from everything that followed, begged me to trust her.

But, no matter how much I wanted to trust her, part of me needed answers.

Suddenly, I found myself at the hospital’s genetics department. As they took my blood and swabbed the inside of my cheek, they assured me it was just a routine procedure. But it was the heaviest one I have ever experienced

It didn’t take long before the results came. The baby with dark skin was MY daughter. I was her biological father.

To put me at ease, the doctor started explaining something about recessive genes, and how traits from generations back could suddenly show up in a child.

I was ashamed of myself for not trusting Stephanie. I grabbed the results and held them tight, as though they were a lifeline

When I entered Stephanie’s room and handed her the piece of paper, she looked at me with her sweet eyes and felt relieved.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” I whispered.

She took my hand and said, “It’s fine, we’ll be okay now.”

At that moment, she fell asleep and I took my baby daughter in my hands. She was the most perfect tiny human being, and she was mine.

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