The DNA results finally arrived on a gray afternoon while rain lashed against the windows of the hospital. Dr. Jennings entered the room with a blue folder and requested that the door be locked for privacy.
“The baby belongs to Madeline, but the paternal markers do not match Trevor,” she stated clearly. Trevor clenched his jaw so hard I thought his teeth might break under the immense pressure.
“Then that confirms it is not my child,” he said with a voice full of cold resentment. “It is not that simple because there is a very high genetic match that suggests a close relative,” the doctor added.
“The data suggests the father is someone related to you, possibly a brother,” she explained further. Trevor turned deathly pale as a single name escaped his lips in a horrified gasp.
“Simon,” he whispered while thinking of his younger brother who had been staying with us. Simon was a decorated officer and a respected man who served as the godfather to our two young daughters.
When my accident happened, Simon had supposedly traveled from the coast to support the family during the crisis. I started to remember blurry fragments of my time in the coma that I had previously dismissed as dreams.
I recalled a hand on my forehead and a voice that sounded like Trevor’s whispering sweet things to me. “Wake up, beautiful, because I cannot imagine my life without you,” the voice had said.
I had always assumed it was my husband sitting by my side while I was trapped in the darkness. The head of security led us to a small office to view the recordings from the past few months.
In the early footage, Simon was seen wearing a cap and a jacket that was identical to the one Trevor owned. He easily bypassed the reception desk by claiming to be the patient’s husband to anyone who asked.
Trevor slammed his fist onto the desk as he watched his own brother deceive the entire hospital staff. “I cannot believe he would do this to us,” Trevor yelled while the video continued to play.
