PART 1
When the DNA results arrived, no one in the room could breathe. My husband, Adrian Villareal, stared at one line on the paper. Bianca Reyes — my best friend, who had just given birth — went pale. And for the first time in three years, I smiled.
Seven days earlier, on our wedding anniversary, I had blocked the doorway of a private hospital delivery room in Makati. Inside, Bianca lay in bed with the baby Adrian proudly called his son. When the nurse asked for the father’s name to put on the birth certificate, I took the clipboard and said, “Wait. Let’s do a DNA test first.”
Adrian went rigid. Bianca burst into tears, playing the victim. But I had stayed quiet for three years while Adrian humiliated me, while his mother called me useless, and while Bianca assured me I had nothing to worry about.
Not anymore.
I called my lawyer, Atty. Salazar, and asked him to prepare a court-ordered paternity test. Through the speaker, he confirmed everything was ready — including the divorce settlement. Everyone in the room froze. Adrian repeated, “Divorce settlement?”
I looked at him and said, “Isn’t that what you wanted from the beginning?”
