Morning light filters through the curtains, gentle yet unyielding.
Mark is already gone, having left early for work.
The house feels emptier than usual, the absence of his presence more noticeable now.
I go about the morning routine, feeding and changing the baby, the tasks mechanical and comforting in their familiarity.
Yet, beneath the surface, my mind is a storm of thoughts, trying to predict the outcome of the DNA test.
Will it validate his doubt, or will it bring us back together?
Each scenario plays out in my mind, none offering a clear path forward.
I find myself staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, searching for answers in my own eyes.
What if the test reveals something unexpected?
The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
Outside, birds chirp, unaware of the turmoil brewing inside these walls.
The normalcy of it all feels almost cruel.
I try calling Mark, but it goes straight to voicemail.
A sense of frustration wells up inside me, but I push it down, focusing instead on the day’s necessities.
Time seems to stretch and contract, the minutes both dragging and flying by.
I check my phone repeatedly, though I know the call is scheduled for the afternoon.
The anticipation is nearly unbearable.
When the baby naps, I sit by the window, watching the world outside.
Cars pass, people walk by, each absorbed in their own lives.
It’s a reminder that life goes on, regardless of the chaos within.
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