I thought I knew everything about my husband, Peter—until I overheard his mother and sister gossiping about our son’s red hair, questioning if Peter was really the father. They hinted at a secret Peter had kept from me. When I confronted him, Peter confessed: after our first child was born, his family pressured him into taking a hidden paternity test. The results claimed he wasn’t the father, though Peter never doubted me and chose to raise our child with love. He had kept it secret out of fear and shame. I was heartbroken—not because of the test, but because he didn’t trust me with the truth. Still, his unwavering love for our son meant more than biology. I told him healing would take time, but we would face it together.
