Eric read it four times. The words did not change. He was aware of his heartbeat in his ears, and of the refrigerator humming, and of Lily's muffled voice outside shouting Watch, watch, watch this one.
"That's," he said, and stopped. "That's got to be a mistake. Mark's test, maybe they…" He trailed off. He looked up at his wife.
Melissa was standing with her back against the counter. She had put down the red cup at last. Her arms were wrapped around herself as if the kitchen were much colder than it was. She was crying without making any sound, the tears simply running down her face, and she was looking at him, finally, straight at him.
He waited for her to say it was a mistake. He would have believed her. That was the terrible thing he would understand later: if she had said it was a mistake, he would have believed her, because he had believed her about everything for nineteen years. He stood there holding his son's phone and waited for her to give him that.
"It isn't a mistake," Melissa said.
Nobody spoke for a long moment. The ice maker in the freezer dropped a load of cubes with a clatter that made all three of them flinch.
"Then who," Tyler said. His voice cracked on the second word, and he cleared his throat and tried again, angry at himself. "Then who is he? Who's my…" He could not find the end of the sentence. Father was the wrong word. Father was standing right there.
Melissa closed her eyes. When she opened them she spoke to the floor.