Sarah followed the doctor, leaving Noah with me. I held my grandson, my whole body numb. Michael stood frozen in the hallway, his eyes locked on the doors to the OR.
“Michael.”
I went to his side.
“Don’t talk.”
His voice was colder than ice.
“Not until Jake is out of surgery.”
Two hours later, the light above the operating room finally went out. The surgeon emerged, pulling off his mask.
“The surgery was a success. He’s stable for now, but he’ll need to be monitored in the ICU.”
We all breathed a collective sigh of relief. Sarah, pale from donating blood, came out and weakly asked:
“How’s Jake?”
“He’s okay.”
I hugged her.
“Thank you, Sarah.”
Jake was moved to the ICU. We could only see him through the glass, lying pale and still, hooked up to a tangle of tubes and wires.
“Jake.”
I whispered his name through blurred vision.
Michael stood beside me, silent as a statue.
That night, Sarah took Noah home to rest. The hospital corridor was empty except for me and Michael.
“Susan.”
He finally spoke, his voice filled with a despair I had never heard before.
“Tell me. Is Jake my son?”
My heart stopped.
“What? What are you saying?”
“The doctor said it. We’re both type O. Jake can’t be type B.”
He turned to face me, his eyes full of anguish.
“So I’m asking you. Is Jake my biological son?”
“Of course he is.”
The words tumbled out of me frantically.
“Of course he’s your son.”
“Then explain the blood type.”
“I… I don’t know. Maybe the hospital made a mistake. Maybe it’s a genetic mutation.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Michael let out a cold laugh.
“Susan, when you cheated on me, Jake was already in college. So if he’s not my son, that means you lied to me from the very beginning. From thirty years ago.”
“No.”
I grabbed his arm.
“It’s not true, Michael. You have to believe me.”
“Believe you?”
He shook my hand off.
“How can I believe you? You didn’t even know you were pregnant with another man’s child. How am I supposed to believe you now?”
“But Jake is your son.”
I was sobbing again.
“Look at him. He looks just like you.”
“Like me?”
Michael’s own tears fell.
“Susan, do you know what my proudest accomplishment has been for the last thirty years? Having a son like Jake. And now you’re telling me he might not even be mine.”
“He is. He has to be.”
Just then, the door to the ICU opened. A doctor came out.
“The patient is awake. He’s asking for you.”
We rushed inside. Jake lay on the bed looking weakly at us.
“Dad. Mom.”
His voice was faint.
“Jake.”
I squeezed his hand.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay.”
He looked at Michael, his eyes pleading.
“Dad, I have something to tell you.”
Michael moved to the bedside, his own eyes red.
“What is it, son?”
