Scott was breathing heavily as if the very air in his parents’ house had become too thick to inhale. “Please just tell us what the real numbers are so we can end this nightmare,” he pleaded with the supervisor.
Lawrence opened the envelope and read the results in a clear voice that left no room for doubt or further argument. “The probability of paternity between Scott Preston and Toby Preston is ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent,” he declared.
The room fell into a silence that was far more painful than the shouting that had occurred earlier in the evening. There were no apologies from the uncles, and there were no tears of joy from the grandmother who had tried to ruin us.
Toby looked up at Scott with his big, innocent eyes and reached out his small hand while murmuring a request for his daddy. Scott broke down in tears and began to walk toward us, but I instinctively took a large step back to keep him away.
