“A piece of paper from a strip mall lab changes nothing about what I see,” Eleanor said, her voice rising as she pointed a manicured finger directly at Anna’s face.
“Mother, please,” Anna sobbed, turning her head away.
“Look at him, Michael, that child cannot possibly be yours,” Eleanor screamed, her voice echoing off the plastic partitions.
“We need to run proper tests before we make accusations, Eleanor,” I said, my hand finally moving to rub my wedding ring.
“I know what my daughter is, and I know what you are, Michael,” Eleanor said, her eyes flashing with a cold, desperate fury. “You are a fool if you stay here.”
She turned on her heel and flung the door open, her leather bag swinging against her side.
The door swung shut behind her, leaving only the sound of Anna sobbing into her thin pillows.
I sat in the plastic chair, my hand resting on my gold band, unable to reach out to the woman I thought I knew.
We brought the boys home on a rainy Tuesday morning, carrying them through the back door to avoid the neighbors who might be watching from their porches across the narrow gravel drive.
