Chapter 4 - The Confrontation
I looked at Brandon, and in his eyes, I saw twenty-eight years of a lie beginning to unravel.
He didn't yell. He didn't break down. The quiet, firm man I had married simply pulled out his phone and dialed his mother’s number.
"Mom," Brandon said, his voice flat and dangerous. "I need you at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital. In the private consultation room on the third floor. Now."
"I am not coming to see that—" Madeline started over the speakerphone.
"If you are not here in twenty minutes," Brandon interrupted, "I will call the police, the local news, and the family lawyers to report that you intentionally withheld medical information regarding a lethal genetic allergy, which nearly killed my son today. And then, I will show them the DNA results we just received."
There was a sharp gasp on the other end of the line. The line went dead.
Exactly eighteen minutes later, the door to the consultation room swung open. Madeline stood there, her purple dress slightly wrinkled, her eyes darting between Brandon, me, and the medical folder resting on the table.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, trying to maintain her regal composure. "You embarrass me in front of the entire family, kick me out of your house, and now you summon me here like a criminal?"
"You knew about the walnut allergy, didn't you?" Brandon asked, stepping closer to her.
Madeline scoffed, crossing her arms. "Your father had a sensitive stomach. I didn't want nuts in the house. It's a common precaution."
"My father died of anaphylaxis, Mom! You told me it was a bee sting!" Brandon roared, his control finally snapping. "You let my son eat that cake, hoping he would have a reaction. You wanted to prove he wasn't mine!"
"He isn't yours!" Madeline shrieked, her face twisting in venomous triumph. "Look at him! He doesn't have your nose, he doesn't have your eyes! You've been raising another man's mistake, Brandon! I did a private DNA swab from his cup months ago. The lab told me there was no direct paternal match between you and that boy!"
"You're right," I spoke up, stepping forward and placing my hand on the blue folder. "There isn't a direct match between Brandon and Luke. But do you want to know why, Madeline?"
May you like
I opened the folder and slid the genetic analysis toward her.
"Because Brandon isn't your husband's biological son either," I said, my voice cutting through her smugness like a knife.
