The nurse did not look at him with the deferential respect he had expected after spending a small fortune on the private suite. Instead, her face was a mask of tense, clinical gravity.
“Mr. Javier?” she asked, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper. “We need you to sign the acknowledgement of birth registration, but before you do, the lead pediatrician needs to(simo) speak with you in private.”
Javier’s chest swelled with a brief flash of irritation. “Is something wrong with my boy? I paid for the premium care package. If your doctors bungled the delivery—”
“It is not a medical complication, sir,” a voice interrupted from behind.
Javier turned to see Dr. Silva, the chief of obstetrics, walking toward him with a clipboard and an expression that made Javier’s stomach suddenly drop. The doctor signaled for Javier to follow him into a small, secluded consultation room.
Once the door clicked shut, Dr. Silva didn’t beat around the bush. “Mr. Javier, during the final preparation for the birth certificate documentation, we cross-referenced the prenatal blood type records Valeria Cruz submitted last month with the baby’s actual blood work taken just twenty minutes ago.”
“And? He’s healthy, right? He looks just like me,” Javier said, though a sudden, cold sweat began to bead at his hairline.
“The baby is perfectly healthy, Mr. Javier. However, biologically speaking, he cannot possibly be yours.” Dr. Silva adjusted his glasses, looking at Javier with a mixture of professional detachment and pity. “Your medical file on record shows you have type O-negative blood. Ms. Cruz is type A-positive. The newborn baby, however, is type AB-positive. It is a genetic impossibility for two parents with O and A blood types to conceive a child with AB blood. The child must have inherited the ‘B’ allele from his biological father.”
The words echoed in Javier’s ears like a physical blow. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Type AB. Genetic impossibility. Not yours.
“That’s a lie!” Javier roared, slamming his fist onto the desk. “Valeria wouldn’t dare! I paid for everything! Look at his nose, look at his—”
“Sir, science does not lie,” Dr. Silva interrupted firmly, passing over the official lab report. “We ran the test twice to ensure there was no laboratory error. If you require further proof, we can initiate a formal DNA test, but the blood typing is definitive. You are not the father of this boy.”
Javier snatched the paper, his hands shaking so violently he nearly tore it. He didn’t need a DNA test. Deep down, a sickening clarity was washing over him. He remembered the long ‘business trips’ Valeria had taken early in her pregnancy, the sudden affection, the convenient timing of her announcement right after he had mentioned his desire for a male heir to inherit his grandfather’s properties.
He didn’t say another word. He stormed out of the consultation room, his face purple with rage, and marched down the sterile, brightly lit corridor toward Valeria’s private suite—the room that had cost him his life savings.
He threw the door open so hard it banged against the wall. Valeria was sitting up in the plush bed, sipping apple juice, looking victorious.
