“You’re doing great, babe,” I whispered.
She shot me a quick smile, and then it was time. Time for everything we’d hoped for, worked for, to finally happen.
When the first cry pierced the air, I felt a rush of relief, pride, and love all tangled together. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until I let it out in a shaky exhale.
Stephanie reached out, eager to hold our baby, but as the nurse laid the tiny, squirming bundle into her arms, something in the room shifted.
Stephanie stared at the baby, her face draining of color, eyes wide with shock.
“That’s not my baby,” she gasped, the words catching in her throat. “That’s not my baby!”
I blinked, not understanding. “What do you mean? Steph, what are you talking about?”
She shook her head, even as the nurse explained that they hadn’t cut the umbilical cord yet, so this was definitely our baby. She looked like she wanted to shove it away.
“Brent, look!” Her voice was rising, panic seeping into every syllable. “She’s… she’s not… I never…”
I looked down at our baby and my world tilted. Dark skin, soft curls. I felt like the ground had just been ripped out from under me.
“What the hell, Stephanie?” I didn’t recognize my voice, sharp and accusing, slicing through the room.
The nurse flinched, and from the corner of my eye, I noticed our families, frozen in shock.
“It’s not mine!” Stephanie’s voice cracked as she looked at me, eyes brimming with tears. “It can’t be. I never slept with anyone else. Brent, you must believe me, I never—”
The tension in the room was suffocating, thick, and choking, as everyone quietly slipped away, leaving just the three of us. I should’ve stayed, but I couldn’t bear the betrayal.
“Brent, wait!” Stephanie’s voice rang out from behind me, broken and desperate, as I marched toward the door. “Please, don’t leave me. I swear to you, I’ve never been with anyone else. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”
The raw honesty in her voice made me stop. I turned to look at her. This was the woman I’d loved for years, the woman who had stood by me through every trial and heartbreak. Could she really be lying to me now?
“Steph,” I said, my voice softening despite the storm raging inside me. “This doesn’t make sense. How… how do you explain this?”
“I don’t understand it either, but please, Brent, you have to believe me.”
I looked back at the baby in her arms, and for the first time, really looked. The skin and hair were still a shock. But then I saw it: She had my eyes. And a dimple on her left cheek, just like me.
I closed the distance between us and reached out to cup Steph’s cheek. “I’m here. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not leaving you. We’ll figure this out together.”
She collapsed against me, sobbing, and I held my wife and my daughter as tightly as I could. I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, but eventually, Stephanie started to nod off. The long hours of labor and the stress of our baby’s shocking appearance had taken a toll on her.
I gently untangled myself from them and murmured, “I just need a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Stephanie looked up at me, her eyes puffy and red, and nodded. I knew she was scared I wouldn’t come back, but I couldn’t stay in that room any longer. Not with the way my mind was spinning.
I stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking softly behind me, and sucked in a deep breath, but it didn’t help. I needed more than just air. I needed answers, clarity, something to make sense of the chaos that had just torn through my life.
“Brent,” a voice called, sharp and familiar, breaking through my thoughts like a knife.
I looked up to see my mother standing near the window at the end of the hall, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was set in a hard, disapproving line, the kind that used to send shivers down my spine as a kid when I knew I’d messed up.
“Mom,” I greeted her, but my voice was flat, emotionless. I didn’t have the energy for whatever lecture she was about to deliver.
She didn’t waste any time. “Brent, you can’t stay with her after this. You saw the baby. That’s not your child. It can’t be.”
“She is my child, I’m sure of it. I—” My voice faltered because the truth was, I wasn’t entirely sure. Not yet. And that doubt… God, that doubt was eating me alive.
Mom moved closer, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t be naive, Brent. Stephanie has betrayed you, and you need to wake up to that fact. I know you love her, but you can’t ignore the truth.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Betrayed. I wanted to shout at my mother, to tell her she was wrong, but the words stuck in my throat. Because some small, cruel part of me was whispering that maybe she was right.
“Mom, I… I don’t know,” I admitted, feeling the ground start to slip away from beneath my feet. “I don’t know what to think right now.”
She softened, just a little, reaching out to touch my arm. “Brent, you need to leave her. You deserve better than this. She’s clearly not who you thought she was.”
I pulled away from her, shaking my head. “No, you don’t get it. This isn’t just about me. That’s my wife and daughter in there. I can’t just walk away.”
Mom gave me a pitying look. “Brent, sometimes you have to make hard decisions for your own good. You deserve the truth.”
I turned away from her. “Yeah, I do deserve the truth. But I’m not making any decisions until I have it. I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Mom. And whatever I find out, I’ll deal with it. But until then, I’m not giving up on Stephanie.”
She sighed, clearly dissatisfied with my response, but she didn’t push further. “Just be careful, Brent. Don’t let your love for her blind you to reality.”
With that, I turned and walked away. I couldn’t stand there and listen to any more of her doubts, not when I had so many of my own. I made my way down to the hospital’s genetics department, every step feeling heavier than the last.
By the time I reached the office, my heart was pounding in my chest, a relentless reminder of what was at stake.
The doctor was calm and professional, explaining the DNA test process as if it were just another routine test. But for me, it was anything but routine.
They took my blood, swabbed the inside of my cheek, and promised they’d have the results as soon as possible.
I spent those hours pacing the small waiting area, replaying everything in my head. I kept thinking about Stephanie’s face, the way she’d looked at me, so desperate for me to believe her.
And the baby with my eyes and my dimples. My heart clung to those details like they were a lifeline. But then I’d hear my mom’s voice in my head, telling me I was a fool for not seeing the truth.
Finally, the call came. I could barely hear the doctor’s voice over the roar of blood in my ears. But then the words cut through the noise: “The test confirms that you are the biological father.”
Relief hit me first, like a wave crashing over me, followed by guilt so sharp it made my breath catch. How could I have doubted her? How could I have let those seeds of suspicion take root in my mind?
But the doctor wasn’t finished.
She explained about recessive genes, about how traits from generations back could suddenly show up in a child. It made sense, scientifically, but it didn’t erase the shame I felt for not trusting Stephanie.
The truth was clear now, but it didn’t make me feel any less like an idiot. I had let doubt creep in, let it poison what should have been the happiest day of our lives.
I made my way back to the room, the results clutched in my hand like a lifeline.
When I opened the door, Stephanie looked up, her eyes filled with hope I didn’t deserve. I crossed the room in three quick strides and held out the paper to her.
Her hands trembled as she read, and then she broke down, tears of relief streaming down her face.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry I doubted you.”
She shook her head, pulling me close, our daughter nestled between us. “We’ll be okay now,” she said softly.
And as I held them both, I made a silent vow: no matter what came our way, no matter who tried to tear us apart, I would protect my family. This was my wife and my child, and I would never let doubt or judgment come between us again.
This Caribbean Island Is Back From the Brink—and Ready To Share Its Treasures With the World
Every product that appears on Condé Nast Traveler has been hand-picked by our editors. However, we might receive an affiliate commission if you make a purchase using one of our retail links.
The paintings of Italian-born artist Agostino Brunias, who made a profession of depicting the island in subdued, stylized settings that covered up the harsh realities of colonial control, were my first visual introduction to Dominica. However, as soon as I step onto its winding roads, which begin to twist shortly after I arrive, it becomes evident that this region, which is situated in the center of the Lesser Antilles’ curve, is anything but tame. The two-toned leaves of its bois canot trees, which change color from green to white when they sway in the wind, shimmer and bristle with the power of the volcano. It lulls with the erratic sound of its numerous waterfalls, scatters rainbows haphazardly across its breathtaking horizons, and enchants from the depths with its vibrant coral reefs. And it roars come storm season.
The indigenous Kalinago people of Dominica survived invasion by the French and British, who imposed slavery on the Africans who now make up four-fifths of the island’s population and left a linguistic legacy of English and French-based Creole, by mastering the lush tropical rainforest that covers more than 60% of the island. If you visit Trinidad for roti and Jamaica for jerk, you should travel to Dominica for green things like bush rum and flower teas. There are a ton of medicinal herbs in the forest.
The Jungle Bay Dominica resort, located smack dab in the center of the Soufrière jungles, leans into nature instead, maybe realizing the futility of fighting against the earth’s generosity. When I finally get there, the kitchen is closed. Joanne Hilaire, the operations manager, tells me that they never let guests go hungry, though, so I can feel the warmth of Dominica’s welcome. The cook is preparing an excellently stewed dish of beans with taro, rice, and plantain for our late dinner, off the menu, while I have a refreshing ginger-lime cocktail that is a local favorite. When I wake up the following morning, I find that my villa’s doors open onto a private veranda that faces southwest toward Soufrière Bay, where the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean converge. I let the light wake me for the remainder of my stay by leaving my blinds open.
Leave a Reply