A glorious day shone through the curtains. The cobalt sky couldn’t be any clearer, and there wasn’t a cloud in it. I sat on the couch across from Hazel’s bed, looking out the window.
“Did you check on him?” Hazel asks eagerly, waking up from her sleep.
“Yes, he’s good.” I’d walked down to the nursery a couple of times throughout the night just to check on our son even though I knew he was in good hands.
“Have you thought of any names? We’ll have to fill out the birth certificate soon.” She pushes herself up to a sitting position on the bed.
“Kane Stapleton,” I say proudly.
“Kane Stapleton,” she repeats, trying out the name for herself. “I like it.”
I get up and land a kiss to her forehead before taking my turn in the bathroom. We’re getting the DNA test results today. At my core, I felt like the kid was mine. While I had no proof, my gut instinct told me it was true. After leaving the bathroom, I go down to the cafeteria to get breakfast.
I come back a few minutes later with breakfast in hand. Hazel must have asked for Kane to be brought to the room because the hospital bassinet is next to the bed. Hazel has a speculative look on her face. She’s holding an envelope in her hand.
“What’s that?” I know the answer already. My stomach flip-flops in anticipation.
“The results.” Hazel has a sad look on her face. “The nurse came in while you were gone and handed it to me.”
I place the breakfast platter on the table and sit down. I cast my eyes up at the ceiling, “Okay...open it up, and let’s see what we got.”
Hazel was clearly nervous now. All our waiting, all our arguments, all of the uncertainty and frustration, is about to come to an end. Hazel paused, sliding her finger under the lip of the envelope to open it. She methodically peels the rim back and pulls the edge of the paper out of the envelope. I sit anxiously awaiting the information. It seems like Hazel is moving in slow motion. The results paper is folded into three sections. She unfolds the first section, then opens the page up to the middle section, then unveiled the entire page.
Just rip it open already, Hazel.
She just stares at the paper, her eyes moving slowly from left to right. My heart begins to beat rapidly.
“Well, what does it say?” I ask. She scoots closer to the end of the bed, holding the paper up to read. Tears streaming down her face, she read out loud.
“The alleged father is not excluded as the biological father of the tested child. Based on testing results obtained from analyses of the DNA loci listed, the probability of paternity is 99.9996%. The probability of paternity is calculated-”
“Wait!” I interrupt her. “Read that last sentence again. No, give it here and let me read it.”
Tears formed a river down Hazel’s face. She hands the paper to me, and I read it aloud, “Based on testing results obtained from analyses of the DNA loci listed, the probability of paternity is 99.9996%.”
I smoothed, reread it, and flopped down in the chair.
“That’s my son!” I proclaim, fist-pumping the air. “Kane Brown Stapleton is my son!”
In that instant, I felt all the pressure melt from my mind. The slow burn of torture was over. We had a baby boy!
“I’m sorry if I’ve made this difficult. But this is OUR son,” I emphasized. “And he’s gonna have the best life possible.”
Hazel couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. I picked up Kane. I brought him over to the bed where Hazel was sitting. I held Kane close to my heart.
“Kane Brown Stapleton, Daddy and Mommy love you!” I handed the baby to Hazel and put my arm around her. Through all the abuse, the drama, the ups and downs of our relationship, we had weathered the storm and survived.