When the DNA results arrived, no one in the room could breathe. My husband, Adrian Villareal, stared at one line on the paper. Bianca Reyes, my best friend who had just given birth, turned pale. And for the first time in three years, I smiled.
Seven days earlier, on our wedding anniversary, I blocked the doorway of a private hospital delivery room in Makati. Inside, Bianca lay in bed with the baby Adrian proudly called his son. When the nurse asked for the father’s name on the birth certificate, I took the clipboard and said, “Wait. Let’s do a DNA test first.”
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Adrian went cold. Bianca began crying, acting like she was the victim. But I had stayed silent for three years while Adrian humiliated me, while his mother called me useless, and while Bianca told me I had nothing to worry about. Not anymore.
I called my lawyer, Atty. Salazar, and asked him to prepare a court-ordered paternity test. Through the speaker, he confirmed the papers were ready — including the divorce settlement. Everyone froze. Adrian repeated, “Divorce settlement?” I looked at him and said, “Isn’t that what you wanted from the
