Klara laughed. “Of course not. Peter never told her the truth about their first baby.”
My heart raced with panic. What truth? I needed to know what they meant.
That night, I confronted Peter. I called him into the kitchen, my voice barely steady.
“Peter,” I whispered, “what haven’t you told me about our first baby?”
He froze, his face turning pale. After a moment, he sat down and buried his face in his hands.
“There’s something you don’t know,” he said, guilt evident in his voice. “When you were pregnant with our first… my family pressured me to take a paternity test.”
I stared at him, trying to process his words. “A paternity test? Why would you do that?”
“They didn’t believe the baby was mine,” Peter explained, his voice breaking. “They thought the timing was too close to your previous relationship.”
My head spun. “So you took the test? Without telling me?”
Peter stood, his hands trembling. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you! I never doubted you. But my family wouldn’t let it go. I didn’t know how to make them stop.”
“And what did the test say?” I demanded, panic rising.
Peter hesitated. “It said… I wasn’t the father.”
The room seemed to collapse around me. “What? How could that be?”
Peter moved closer, desperate to explain. “I know you didn’t cheat. I know the baby is mine in every way that matters. But the test was negative. My family didn’t believe me when I said it must be wrong.”
I stepped back, shaking. “So you’ve known this for years and never told me? How could you keep this from me?”
Peter’s face crumpled. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I thought the test didn’t change anything. I wanted to protect you from the pain and confusion. I didn’t want to lose you.”
Tears streamed down my face. “You should’ve trusted me. We’ve been raising him together, and you’ve been his father. We could’ve handled this together, but instead, you lied.”
Peter reached for my hands, but I pulled away. “I know,” he whispered. “I was scared. I didn’t want you to think I doubted you.”
I needed air. I went outside into the cool night, hoping to calm the storm inside me. How could he have kept this from me?
After a few moments of staring at the stars, I knew that despite everything, Peter wasn’t a bad person. His family had pressured him, and he had made a terrible mistake. He had always been there for me and our son. His lie came from fear, not malice.
When I returned, Peter was sitting at the table, his face buried in his hands. He looked up as I entered, his eyes red and swollen.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Healing from this would take time, but I knew we couldn’t abandon everything we’d built. We had a family, and despite the hurt, I still loved him.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said softly. “Together.”