You’re raising a dead woman’s affair baby.”
The words sliced through the air like a blade. My sister-in-law, Isabel, shoved a DNA test into my hands, her face twisted with righteous fury. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the paper, my mind scrambling to process what was happening.
She had gone behind my back. She had stolen my daughter’s DNA. She had run a test without my consent. But this wasn’t just about Ava. This was about a cruel, baseless lie my brother had fed his fiancée, and now she was standing in my own home, accusing me of raising another man’s child as if it were some dirty secret.
I stood frozen. My six-year-old daughter, Ava, clung to my leg, sensing the tension in the room. Her big brown eyes darted between us, confused and scared.
“She’s not yours,” Isabel declared again, as if she was uncovering some great crime. “You’re raising a dead woman’s affair baby.”
The sheer insanity of the accusation hit me all at once. I laughed. Not just a chuckle—a full, deep, stomach-hurting laugh that I couldn’t control. It was so absurd, so wildly ridiculous, that I couldn’t help myself.
Isabel’s face burned red. “What’s so funny?”
I wiped away a tear from laughing too hard. “You took a DNA test on my daughter behind my back? Do you think you’re some kind of detective? What’s next, a crime board with red string?”
Her mouth clamped shut, but her eyes darted to Ava, who was still gripping my leg, her brows furrowed in distress.
And that’s when I stopped laughing. My chest tightened with anger.
“Get out of my house!” I snapped.
“Jake, you don’t understand—”
“No, YOU don’t understand,” I growled, pulling Ava closer to me. “You waltz in here, into MY home, with accusations and stolen DNA tests IN FRONT of my child and expect what exactly? A trophy? A round of applause? Get out. NOW.”
Ava’s little fingers tightened around my shirt. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Daddy, why is Aunt Isabel mad? Did I do something bad?”
Her innocent question shattered something inside me. I knelt down, forcing myself to breathe, and cupped her tiny face in my hands. “No, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. Aunt Isabel made a mistake, that’s all.”
Isabel’s face crumpled. “Jake, please, if you’d just listen—”
“I think you’ve said enough,” I cut her off. “Leave before I say something I can’t take back.”
Isabel hesitated for a moment but then turned and walked out. As soon as the door slammed shut, Ava looked up at me with wide, uncertain eyes. “Are you still my daddy?”
The question hit me like a gut punch. I pulled her into my arms, holding her so tightly I could feel her little heart beating against my chest. My throat burned with the effort of holding back tears. “Always, baby girl. Always and forever.”
Let me back up.
I’m Jake. I’m 30 years old, and I have a daughter, Ava. She’s not my biological daughter—never has been and never will be. But that has never mattered.
Ava’s parents were my best friends. We were like family, closer than siblings. Her mom, Hannah, married a great guy, Daniel, and they had a beautiful baby girl. But three months later, tragedy struck. A car accident took both their lives, leaving Ava alone in the world.
There was no one else. No family to step in. Just me.
I wasn’t planning on being a dad at 24. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I liked kids. But leaving her to the foster system? That wasn’t an option. I signed the papers, took her home, and became her father in every way that mattered.
My family knew she was adopted. Ava knew she was adopted. There were no secrets, no lies. But apparently, my brother, Ronaldo, had decided to rewrite history in his own mind. And worse? He had convinced Isabel that something shady was going on.
It started a few weeks ago at a family dinner. Isabel had been staring at an old photo on my parents’ wall—a picture of me, Hannah, and Daniel, taken before Ava was born.
“That’s Ava’s mom?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yep. That was Hannah. She had the kind of laugh that could make a whole room join in. And Daniel—man, he was the most dependable guy I’ve ever known.”
Isabel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And… how did you feel when they had Ava?”
I frowned, thrown off by the question. “Overjoyed. I was the first person they called when she was born. I brought them terrible hospital coffee and stayed up all night with Daniel while Hannah slept. We couldn’t stop grinning.”
She nodded, but something about her expression felt… off. Later that night, I caught her whispering on the phone. I should’ve known then. I should’ve realized something was brewing.
Instead, I found out the hard way—when she barged into my home with that DNA test.
Turns out, she thought she was “helping” me. That’s what she claimed later when I confronted her.
“Jake, I swear, I thought you were being lied to,” she insisted. “I thought Ava wasn’t yours, and if that was the case, you deserved to know!”
I was livid. “Do you have ANY idea what you’ve done? Ava asked me last night if she was still my daughter! A SIX-YEAR-OLD child questioning if her father still loves her because of your stupid stunt!”
Isabel’s eyes filled with tears. “I never meant to hurt her. I thought—”
“That’s the problem, Isabel. You didn’t THINK!”
And then it hit me. “My brother told you to do this, didn’t he?”
She didn’t answer.
I let out a humorless laugh. “Of course. Of course, Ronaldo was behind this.”
I confronted him the next day.
“You actually thought I had an affair with Hannah? Lied about it for years?” I asked, barely able to contain my rage.
Ronaldo scoffed. “You NEVER wanted kids, Jake. Then suddenly, you adopt a baby? What was I supposed to think?”
“Maybe that I loved her parents? That I refused to let their daughter grow up without a family? That being her dad is the best thing that ever happened to me?” I shot back.
Ronaldo looked away. He had no answer. Just excuses.
I shook my head. “Family isn’t about blood, Ronaldo. It’s about love. And you just proved you don’t know the first thing about it.”
That night, as I tucked Ava into bed, she looked up at me. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
Her little fingers curled into my sleeve. “I’m YOUR daughter, right?”
I kissed her forehead, my heart overflowing. “Always, sweetheart. Always.”
And that’s the only truth that ever mattered.
