“Look at me, Sarah,” Mark demanded gently.
I shook my head. “I just want to stay home, Mark. I can’t face them.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said firmly.
“But I am ashamed!” I yelled, the pain boiling over.
“You are not broken,” he fired back. “And I am done letting her treat you like this.”
“Then what are you going to do?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“What does that mean?” I asked, wiping another tear.
Mark stood up and pulled me to my feet.
“It means her toxic game ends today,” he said, staring right into my eyes. “We are going to that restaurant.”
He simply said, “Get dressed. We’re going anyway.”
“Sarah? What are you doing here?” Beatrice demanded from the head of the table.
“She’s my wife,” Mark said, stepping firmly in front of me.
“Mark, darling, please,” Beatrice sighed, waving her hand dismissively.
“We are celebrating the sacred biological bonds of motherhood today.”
“Sarah simply wouldn’t understand our connection,” Beatrice added with a sugary, fake smile.
“Do you?” Beatrice sneered, slamming her napkin on the table.
“Stop right there,” Mark interrupted, his voice echoing in the quiet restaurant.
He marched straight to the head of the table.
He placed a small, perfectly wrapped silver box right next to her plate.
“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom,” he said calmly. “You should open this. Now.”
“Oh?” Beatrice’s tone instantly shifted to delight.
“Just open it,” Mark said coldly.
“You really shouldn’t have,” she chuckled, tearing the silver wrapping away.
She lifted the lid of the box, but her confident smile vanished.
Instead of jewelry, she pulled out a folded piece of official hospital paper.
“What on earth is this, Mark?” she asked, glaring at him.
“Read it,” Mark demanded. “Read it out loud for the whole table.”
“A certificate of authenticity?” Beatrice muttered, adjusting her reading glasses.
“Patient name, Beatrice Harper,” she read aloud.
She stopped reading, her mouth hanging slightly open.
The color completely drained from her face.
“Mark, what kind of sick, twisted joke is this?” Beatrice whispered.
“Read the bottom line, Mom,” Mark insisted.
“I will not!” she hissed, her hands starting to shake uncontrollably.
“Then I will,” Mark said, pointing at the bold text on the page.
The entire room went dead silent.
“That’s impossible!” Beatrice yelled, slamming the paper down on the tablecloth.
“It’s a mistake from the lab! It has to be!”
“It’s not a mistake,” Mark said quietly. “I ran the test twice.”
Arthur sat frozen at the end of the table, his face ghostly pale.
“He’s right, Bea,” Arthur whispered, tears welling in his eyes.
“What did you just say?” Beatrice gasped, clutching her chest.
“The DNA test is completely accurate,” Arthur muttered, staring at the floor.
“You’re lying!” she screamed. “I gave birth to him! I know I did!”
Mark stepped back, giving his father the floor.
“Dad has something he’s needed to tell you for thirty years,” Mark said softly.
Beatrice’s hands shook so violently she knocked over her water glass.
“Arthur?” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Please, tell me this is a prank.”
Arthur slowly stood up, looking like he carried the weight of the world.
“Bea, I am so sorry,” Arthur choked out, gripping the edge of the table.
“Arthur, what is happening?” Beatrice demanded, her voice shrill and trembling.
“I’m so sorry, Bea,” Arthur said, tears streaming down his face. “I’ve carried this burden for thirty years.”
“What burden?” Beatrice screamed, slamming her hand on the table. “Tell me right now!”
“Our baby didn’t survive,” Arthur whispered, refusing to look her in the eyes.
“No,” Beatrice gasped, shaking her head frantically. “No, that’s impossible. Mark is right here.”
“Mark is an orphan,” Arthur choked out, burying his face in his hands. “Our son passed away an hour after you delivered him.”
“You’re lying!” Beatrice shrieked. “You are lying to me!”
