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Before I could speak again, the sound of the gate creaked open. My husband entered, suitcase in hand. The moment his eyes landed on me—and then on the baby in his mother’s arms—his face drained of color.
Confrontation
“What are you doing here?” he stammered.
The room fell silent. My mother-in-law clutched the baby tightly. My father-in-law stood frozen at the door. Sweat beaded on my husband’s forehead.
I stepped closer, my voice unyielding. “Admit it. This child is yours, isn’t he?”
After a long, suffocating pause, he finally nodded.
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