The 100th Test Snitched

After Lily turned six, I dragged her through ninety-nine DNA tests.

I even pulled her out of school.

Quit my job too. Every day, another hospital, another test.

The house? Total chaos.

And every single report said the same thing—biologically related.

By the hundredth test, Wesley snapped. He yanked Lily behind him.

"Lily came out of you. How could she not be yours? If you keep this up, we're done."

He pulled out the divorce papers.

Lily's face crumpled. She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe. "Mom, you said I was your most precious baby. Don't you want me anymore?"

"You were under a lot of stress after giving birth. It turned into depression. Let's see a doctor," Wesley's mom said, wiping her eyes.

I didn't say a word. I ripped the papers to shreds, yanked Lily out from behind him.

"One more test. Once we get the report, you can divorce me if you still want to."

The report came back.

No one said a word.

I dragged Lily toward the hospital. She fought me, crying hard. "Dad, save me! I don't want her. I want Sasha to be my mom!"

I didn't stop.

Wesley Cole shoved me aside and ripped Lily from my grip. "You're insane. You don't deserve to be a mother."

A knock hit the door.

I opened it.

Reporters packed the hallway, cameras and phones aimed right at me.

I tried to slam the door, but a reporter jammed it open.

"Ms. Madison, did you have postpartum depression after giving birth?"

"Have you been reading too many switched-at-birth stories?"

"Why are you so obsessed with DNA tests that you're draining your savings?"

The questions kept coming.

I said nothing.

I glanced at Wesley. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes.

But as they kept talking, his face hardened, turning more and more indignant.

So he called them. After all this time, he'd hit his limit.

Wesley and I were college classmates. We got married right after graduation.

Campus sweethearts to married life—people envied us.

Not long after, we had Lily. Raising her was exhausting.

But one look at her sweet little face, and the exhaustion vanished.

After she turned six, I started taking her for DNA tests.

At first, Wesley didn't believe it. He waited with me, tense, for the results.

They came back. The whole family relaxed.

I tossed the report in the trash and dragged Lily to another test.

Again and again.

Soon, everyone was calling me crazy.

"You'll understand when the next report comes out," I said.

That got them fired up.

"But the first ninety-nine results are already in. Why won't you stop?"

"Didn't they already prove it?"

"They confirmed she's your child!"

Lily spoke right on cue. "Mom, my arm really hurts. I don't want any more DNA tests!"

She rolled up her sleeve and held out her arm.

Everyone gasped.

Her soft arms were covered in bruises—blue and purple layered over each other.

It was brutal to look at.

Wesley's eyes went red. He pulled her close, checking her arm. "Did your mom do this to you?"

"It's okay, Dad. You said Mom's just sick," Lily said. "She doesn't know what she's doing. I need to understand her."

That gentle tone just made her look more pitiful.