A week later, Linda orchestrated what she called a “small family gathering” to coincide with Eric’s return. I knew exactly why she did that.
“Welcome home, sweetheart!” Linda practically sprinted across the room when Eric walked in, still looking tired from his long flight. “We have so much to discuss.”
“Napping upstairs,” I replied, squeezing his hand. “He’ll be up soon.”
Linda cleared her throat. “Actually, Eric, before Noah wakes up, there’s something very important we need to talk about.”
She gestured toward the living room where Richard, my father-in-law, sat unusually quiet in his favorite armchair.
I watched as she guided Eric to the couch, perching beside him like a bird of prey. Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled an envelope from her purse.
“Eric,” she began, “honey, I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you, but you deserve to know the truth.”
Eric glanced at me, then back at his mother. “What are you talking about?”
Linda took a theatrical deep breath. “I had a DNA test done. On Noah.” She paused for effect. “Eric, sweetheart… he’s not your son.”
The room fell silent. I leaned against the doorframe and waited for Eric to say something.
Linda stared at him with wide eyes. “Well, of course! Because he isn’t your son!”
“No, Mom. He IS my son,” Eric replied. “The test wasn’t wrong. Noah indeed isn’t related to you. But not because of me.”
I watched Linda’s face drain of color. In the corner, Richard made a small, choked sound.
“That’s impossible,” Linda sputtered. “If he’s your son, then—”
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