After 15 years of raising our son together, my husband suddenly said:
“I’ve always had doubts. I want a DNA test.”
I laughed, thinking it was absurd. But his face was serious.
“Either we do it, or we divorce.”
I loved him. I was faithful. I had nothing to hide. So we did it.
A week later, the doctor called me in — alone.
He looked at me and said, “You need to sit down.”
“Your husband… is not the biological father.”
I froze. My heart raced. “That’s impossible,” I said. “I’ve only ever been with him.”
Then came the words that destroyed me:
“You’re not the biological mother either.”
We repeated the tests. Same result.
For weeks I lived in a daze, crying every night while holding my son.
We dug through hospital records and finally uncovered the truth:
Our baby was swapped at birth.
Another family has our real child — and we’ve raised theirs.
I don’t know how to live with this.
The boy I raised is not my flesh and blood… but he is my son.
And somewhere out there, my biological child is calling another woman “mom.”
What would you do in my place?