He remained silent, a silence I couldn’t understand.

I thought maybe he was in sh0ck, maybe overwhelmed… until I noticed the paper in his hand: a registration form for a DNA test. I froze.

“Javier… what is this?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he silently pulled out a small glass vial containing isopropyl alcohol, cotton balls, sterile gauze, and a tiny needle.

And I understood. He wanted to take our baby’s blood for a paternity test.

“Are you crazy? She’s only three days old! She’s so tiny. How can you even think—”

“Then explain this to me,” he interrupted, his voice hardening.