When our daughter Sarah was born, I expected joy. But my husband, Alex, ruined it by questioning her paternity because of her light features. Despite my reassurances, he demanded a DNA test and moved out to stay with his parents.
While I cared for our newborn alone, his mother threatened to ruin me if the baby wasn’t his. The test confirmed what I always knew—Sarah was his. When I laughed bitterly, finally vindicated, Alex got defensive, claiming the ordeal was hard for him too. I revealed his mother’s threats, which shocked him. He left, and my sister Emily, who had supported me the whole time, told him to stay gone.
Later, Alex returned, apologizing and asking for another chance. For Sarah’s sake, I agreed to try. But something felt off. One night, I checked his phone and found messages with a coworker—he was planning to leave me for her.
The next day, I called a lawyer, filed for divorce, and moved out. I had proof of his cheating, and in the end, I got the house, the car, and child support. He doubted me—but in the end, I was the one betrayed.
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