Chapter 7 - 99.99 PERCENT
Waiting for the result was worse than taking the test.
Every morning, I woke before sunrise and checked my email even though the laboratory had told us not to expect anything for several days.
Every time my phone buzzed, my stomach tightened.
Derek stopped posting online.
Jessica stopped contacting me.
Marilyn did not stop at all.
She sent messages about family loyalty, forgiveness, and how "mistakes made under emotional pressure" should not destroy a man's life.
I did not reply.
What fascinated me was that her language had changed.
A week earlier, I had been a cheating wife.
Now Derek had made mistakes under emotional pressure.
Truth had not even arrived yet, and his defenders were already changing vocabulary.
On Thursday morning, Nina called.
"The court granted temporary restrictions on extraordinary financial transfers."
I sat up in bed.
"So he can't move more money?"
"Not without risking consequences."
"Did he have to return what he already moved?"
"Not yet."
"But he has to account for it."
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
It was the first practical relief I had felt since the separation.
Then Nina added, "His attorney also sent a revised settlement proposal."
"Already?"
"He wants to resolve the house before the paternity result arrives."
That timing was not subtle.
"What does he want?"
"You waive claims relating to the transferred funds, and he will waive any claim for reimbursement connected to the pregnancy."
I laughed.
"He's offering not to charge me for being pregnant if I let him keep the money he took?"
"That is one interpretation."
"What's yours?"
"Mine contains less polite language."
I smiled.
"Reject it."
"I already did."
Friday passed without a result.
Saturday passed too.
On Sunday morning, I drove with Claire to a farmer's market because she insisted I needed sunlight and carbohydrates.
I was buying peaches when I heard my name.
A neighbor from two streets over stood behind me.
Her name was Donna Fields.
We had exchanged Christmas cookies for years.
She looked uncomfortable.
"Sarah, can I say something?"
I braced myself.
"Sure."
"I owe you an apology."
That was not what I expected.
She looked down at the bag in her hands.
"I heard what Derek told people."
"Most people did."
"I believed him."
I said nothing.
"Then my husband saw the post from the clinic parking lot."
I frowned.
"What post?"
Donna looked surprised.
"You didn't see it?"
My skin prickled.
She pulled out her phone.
Someone had taken a photograph of Derek arguing with Jessica outside the ultrasound appointment.
It had been posted in a neighborhood group with the caption asking whether the "truth was finally catching up."
The comments were worse.
People were speculating about the pregnancy, Jessica, and Derek's vasectomy.
My stomach turned.
"Who posted this?"
"A fake account."
"I didn't."
"I know."
Donna looked embarrassed.
"That's why I'm apologizing."
I handed the phone back.
"Please don't discuss my pregnancy online."
"I won't."
"And if anyone asks, tell them I said the same thing."
Donna nodded.
The experience left me shaken.
Derek had started the public story, but now neither of us controlled it.
That afternoon, I asked Nina whether I should post a correction.
"Not yet," she said.
"Silence feels like surrender."
"Sometimes silence is discipline."
"People think I cheated."
"The people who matter legally will see evidence."
"I still live here."
Nina softened.
"I know."
"Just don't let strangers make you litigate your life on social media."
Monday morning arrived with no result.
At eleven fourteen, Derek texted me.
YOU CAN STILL CANCEL THIS.
I stared at the message.
The samples had already been collected.
There was nothing to cancel.
I replied with one sentence.
The test is already being processed.
He answered.
I MEAN THE DIVORCE FIGHT.
My heart accelerated.
I typed carefully.
The divorce is your choice too.
His next message came fast.
IF YOU KEEP PUSHING, EVERYONE LOSES.
I forwarded it to Nina.
Then I returned to work.
I had resumed part-time remote hours for the marketing firm where I had worked before the pregnancy.
For three hours, I forced myself to think about campaign budgets instead of DNA.
At two forty-seven, an email arrived from the laboratory.
RESULT AVAILABLE.
I froze.
My hand remained on the mouse.
The room seemed to shrink around me.
I called Nina before opening it.
"It's here."
"Do you want me on the phone while you read it?"
"Yes."
I logged into the secure portal.
The report loaded slowly.
Derek's name appeared under alleged father.
My name appeared under biological mother.
Then I saw the result.
Probability of paternity: greater than 99.99 percent.
I stopped breathing.
"Sarah?"
Nina's voice sounded distant.
"He's the father."
"What does the report say exactly?"
I read the line aloud.
My voice cracked halfway through.
Nina waited.
I covered my face with one hand.
The tears came harder than they had at the pregnancy test.
Not because I had doubted myself.
I had never doubted myself.
But for weeks, Derek had forced me to carry his doubt as if it were a stain.
Now a laboratory had reduced the entire accusation to a number.
Greater than 99.99 percent.
"Send me the report," Nina said gently.
I downloaded the certified copy and forwarded it.
Then I sat at the kitchen table and stared at the ultrasound photograph on the refrigerator.
My phone began ringing.
Derek.
I let it ring.
He called again.
Then again.
On the fourth call, I answered.
Neither of us spoke at first.
Finally, he said, "You got it?"
"Yes."
His breathing sounded uneven.
"What does it say?"
I almost laughed.
"You have your own copy."
"I haven't opened it."
"Then open it."
"Sarah."
"Open the report, Derek."
I heard tapping.
Then silence.
A long silence.
So long that I could hear a clock ticking somewhere on his end.
"This can't be right."
The sentence did not hurt me anymore.
It only made me tired.
"There it is."
"These tests aren't perfect."
"Greater than 99.99 percent."
"I want another one."
"Of course you do."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"The samples could have been mixed up."
I closed my eyes.
"We were both identified in person."
"Labs make mistakes."
"Then pay for a second accredited test."
He went quiet.
"You'd do that?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
I laughed softly.
"Because I know who I slept with."
He inhaled sharply.
I continued.
"You are the only person who has ever needed convincing."
"Don't act superior."
"I'm not acting anything."
"You think this makes everything my fault."
I stared out the kitchen window.
"No."
"Your affair is your fault."
"Your accusation is your fault."
"Your post is your fault."
"The money you moved is your fault."
"The lab result only proves the baby is yours."
He said nothing.
"Everything else was already yours too."
I ended the call.
Five minutes later, Jessica texted me.
DID YOU GET THE RESULT?
I answered.
Yes.
She replied.
AND?
I stared at the word.
Part of me wanted to make her wait.
Then I typed.
Derek is the father.
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
Finally, she wrote.
I'M SORRY.
I did not answer.
At four fifteen, Derek posted online for the first time in a week.
He did not apologize.
He did not mention the DNA test.
He wrote one sentence.
PRIVATE FAMILY MATTERS SHOULD STAY PRIVATE, AND I WILL NOT PARTICIPATE IN ONLINE GOSSIP.
I stared at it in disbelief.
The same man who had publicly implied I was a liar now wanted privacy.
Ten minutes later, Marilyn called Claire.
Claire put the call on speaker without warning me.
Marilyn's voice filled the room.
"Tell Sarah to stop spreading that test around."
I looked at Claire.
She raised both eyebrows.
"She's sitting right here."
Marilyn went silent.
I leaned toward the phone.
"I haven't sent it to anyone except my lawyer."
"Then how does Jessica know?"
"Ask Jessica."
"Derek is devastated."
Something in me snapped.
"Devastated?"
"He made a mistake."
"He called me a cheater."
"He was confused."
"He moved in with another woman."
"You two had problems."
"He posted about me."
"He was hurt."
I stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
"And what was I, Marilyn?"
She said nothing.
"What was I allowed to be while your son was confused and hurt and devastated?"
Silence.
"I was pregnant."
My voice shook now.
"I was pregnant with his child, and he knew his own doctor had told him the procedure was not immediately effective."
Marilyn finally spoke.
"He didn't know the test would come back like this."
The room went still.
I looked at Claire.
She looked at me.
"What did you just say?" I asked.
Marilyn inhaled sharply.
"Nothing."
"You said he didn't know the test would come back like this."
"I meant the DNA test."
"Which test did you mean?"
"Sarah, don't twist my words."
She hung up.
I stared at the phone.
Claire's face had gone pale.
"She knows about the semen analysis."
"Yes."
My phone buzzed with an email from Nina.
The subject line contained four words.
WE RECEIVED CLINIC RECORDS.
I opened it.
Nina had written only one sentence.
May you like
CALL ME BEFORE YOU READ THE ATTACHMENT.
