Chapter 3 - The Silent Test
“What did you just say?” I asked, turning slowly in my chair.
Grant didn’t meet my gaze immediately. He shifted Rowan to his other arm, patting her back in a rhythm that betrayed his escalating panic. Rowan nestled her head into the crook of his neck, yawning softly, utterly oblivious to the storm raging between her parents.
“Grant,” I said, rising from the table. “What do you mean, Patrice was talking to your mother every week?”
“I didn’t think it was malicious at first,” Grant stammered, backing up half a step into the hallway. “A few months after Rowan was born, Patrice called Mom. She said she was worried about us. She said you seemed distant, that you were working late at the design firm with your former college partner, David.”
My heart plummeted into my stomach. David was gay, married, and lived three states away; he merely consulted on our firm’s digital branding.
“And your mother believed her?” I asked, the words tasting like poison.
“My mother was already anxious because Rowan didn't look like anyone in my family,” Grant said, his voice barely a whisper. “You know how Mom is. She fixates. And then Patrice started dropping comments at family barbecues, laughing it off like a joke, but then texting Mom afterward saying things like, ‘Just keep an eye on them, Judith. I love Nora, but she’s always had a wild streak.’”
“And you?” My voice shook with an anger so profound it made my hands vibrate. “What did you do, Grant? Did you defend me? Did you tell your mother to shut her mouth?”
Grant looked down at the floorboards.
My father stood up from the dining table, his tall frame looming in the doorway. “Grant. Look at my daughter when she speaks to you.”
Grant took a ragged breath. “Nora, Mom kept sending me articles. About genetic anomalies, about infidelity statistics. She kept saying that if Rowan wasn't mine, raising her under a false pretense would destroy me legally and emotionally. She told me a responsible man protects his future.”
“And that’s why you bought the kit,” I whispered.
Grant froze. His eyes snapped up to mine, wide and terrified. “What?”
“The blue-and-white box,” I said, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes, hot and furious. “The one hidden under the spare tire in the trunk of your car. You think I didn't see it when I put Rowan’s stroller in the back on Thursday?”
My father’s breath caught. He looked between Grant and me as if he couldn’t comprehend the reality of what he was hearing. “You bought a paternity test for this baby? For my granddaughter?”
“I didn't use it!” Grant cried out, Rowan startling awake in his arms and beginning to cry. “Nora, I swear to God, I never opened it! I bought it because Nolan and my mom were in my ear every single day, and I just... I wanted to have it so when I felt weak, I could look at it and remind myself that I trusted you! I never swabbed her cheek!”
“You bought it, Grant,” I said, my voice dropping to a deadly, quiet register that silenced his frantic excuses. “The fact that you even walked into that pharmacy, paid twenty-nine dollars, and hid it in your car means that Patrice Vance successfully made you question whether the woman who carried your child for forty-one weeks was a liar.”
Rowan was wailing now, reaching her chubby little arms out toward me. I stepped forward, took my daughter from Grant’s arms, and pulled her tight against my chest.
“Pack a bag, Grant,” I said.
May you like
“Nora, please—”
“Get out of my house. Go to your mother’s. Since you value her opinion so much, go sleep in her guest bedroom tonight.”
