I had just given my husband the son he’d wanted for eight years when he noticed something on our newborn. His smile disappeared — and seconds later, he accused me of cheating.

After twelve hours of labor, I lay exhausted in the hospital bed. At home, our four wonderful daughters—Lily, Grace, Chloe, and little Ava—were eagerly waiting to meet their new baby brother. My husband, Aaron, was pacing near the window, beaming with joy.

Having a son was Aaron’s ultimate dream. Though four daughters had been plenty for me, I had agreed to try one last time just to give him the boy he had pined for across our entire marriage.

When the nurse wheeled in the bassinet, Aaron lifted our tiny boy into his arms like something sacred. “Look at him, Elena,” he whispered, eyes wet with tears. “He’s perfect.”

Then the nurse, Rachel, gently unswaddled the baby to change him into a fresh onesie.

Aaron’s face suddenly changed. The joy vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying silence.

“It can’t be,” Aaron whispered, staring intently at the small of our baby’s back. He turned to the nurse. “Rachel, can you leave us for a minute?”

Once the door clicked shut, Aaron turned slowly toward me. His eyes were hard.

“Michael,” he said flatly.

I blinked, completely confused. Michael was Aaron’s best friend since childhood. He had helped us immensely during my high-risk pregnancy—picking up the girls from school and dropping off groceries while Aaron worked late overtime shifts.

“Aaron, what are you talking about?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Your son has his birthmark, Elena,” Aaron hissed, pointing a finger at the baby. “The same shape. In the exact same place on his lower back.”

My breath caught. I suddenly remembered a pool party two summers ago where I had seen a pale, crescent-shaped birthmark on Michael’s lower back as his shirt rode up.

“Michael was at the house every week while I was working late,” Aaron spat. “He was alone with you.”

“Aaron, no! He is your son! Michael was just helping us because he’s your best friend!” I cried out, the physical pain of my labor pulling sharply at my body. “Do a DNA test right now! Today!”

Aaron pulled his hand away as if I had burned him, staring at me with pure disgust.

“I don’t need a test to tell me what I’m looking at,” he said coldly.