The silence of their home was more deafening than the gunfire he had left behind. Price had been deployed on a classified, no-contact mission for nearly a whole year. His days were filled with danger, his nights with the haunting thoughts of what he had left behind: his husband, Marshall.

Now, standing at the threshold of their house, he felt a mixture of relief and dread. Price pushed open the door, the familiar scent of home enveloped him.

He called out, his voice cracking, “Marshall, I’m home.”

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Marshall appeared, his eyes wide with shock and something else he couldn’t quite place. He rushed to him, wrapping his arms around him. For a moment, he felt the warmth and comfort of her embrace, but then he noticed the infant in his arms.

“This is Andrew,” she said softly, her eyes searching his. “Our son.”

Price felt a cold wave of disbelief wash over him. He pulled back, his eyes narrowing. “Our son? Marshall, how can that be? I’ve been gone for almost a whole year. How could you do this to me?”

He watched the tears welling in the eyes of his husband. Hardly recognized the words falling from her lips that begged him to do the math - to understand and listen-

But he couldn’t listen.

The betrayal he felt was too raw, too consuming. “I want a paternity test,” he demanded. “I need to know for sure.”

The days that followed were a blur of silence and tension. Price couldn’t bring himself to look at Marshall or the baby, sleeping on the couch and avoiding any interaction. Marshall tried to reach out, but he was a wall of anger and hurt.

The results came in two weeks later. Positive. Andrew was his son.