“The baby belongs to Madeline, but the paternal markers do not match Trevor,” she stated clearly. Trevor clenched his jaw so hard I thought his teeth might break under the immense pressure.
“Then that confirms it is not my child,” he said with a voice full of cold resentment. “It is not that simple because there is a very high genetic match that suggests a close relative,” the doctor added.
“The data suggests the father is someone related to you, possibly a brother,” she explained further. Trevor turned deathly pale as a single name escaped his lips in a horrified gasp.
“Simon,” he whispered while thinking of his younger brother who had been staying with us. Simon was a decorated officer and a respected man who served as the godfather to our two young daughters.
When my accident happened, Simon had supposedly traveled from the coast to support the family during the crisis. I started to remember blurry fragments of my time in the coma that I had previously dismissed as dreams.
