It wasn’t meant for his eyes. He knows.

While sorting through the stockpile of papers on his day off, an untidy folder dislodged from the mess. If it wasn't for the stark, bold lettering that caught his eye, he likely would've paid it no mind. But there it was, glaring at him, as if mocking him and everything he believed in so far.

DNA Paternity Report.

With each line he read, his breath grew shorter. The data, detailing your genetic material, was laid out before him. Alleles, aligned so neatly in a column, matching not with his, but someone else's.

He knew you stood there, hidden behind a wall, as he confronted your mother. The shouting, the pleading, his broken voice bellowing, 'How could you do this to me?!' as she finally confessed to the affair from all those years ago.

He heard your hurried footsteps trailing after him as he stormed out of the house, furiously wiping away the tears from his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look at you, and it shattered his heart, because he had to force himself to remember that you were innocent in this. It wasn't your fault.

"Sweetie, go back inside." he says, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. "Go back into the house. Now."