Finnick’s world shattered the moment his daughter was born.

After five years of trying, Elodie and I were finally about to become parents. Her hand gripped mine tightly as she rode out another contraction, her face calm but focused. I whispered encouragements, kissed her damp forehead, and tried to keep my own nerves in check.

Our families hovered near the door, close enough to hear the baby’s first cry, far enough to give us space. The doctor gave me a reassuring nod. I squeezed Elodie’s hand.

“You’re doing great, babe,” I whispered.

She smiled briefly, and then it was time.

When the first cry pierced the air, I felt a rush of relief, pride, and love all tangled together. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I let it out in a shaky exhale.

The nurse placed the tiny, squirming bundle into Elodie’s arms. And then the room changed.

Elodie stared at the baby, her face draining of color. Her eyes widened in shock.

“That’s not my baby,” she gasped.

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

She shook her head, panic rising. The nurse gently explained that the umbilical cord hadn’t even been cut yet—this was definitely our child.

But Elodie looked like she wanted to push the baby away.

“Finnick, look!” Her voice cracked. “She’s… she’s not… I never…”

I looked down. Dark skin. Soft curls. My world tilted.

“What the hell, Elodie?” My voice was sharp, accusing. I didn’t recognize myself.

The nurse flinched. Our families froze in the doorway.

“It’s not mine!” Elodie sobbed. “It can’t be. I never slept with anyone else. Finnick, you must believe me!”

The tension was suffocating. Everyone quietly slipped away, leaving just the three of us.

I should’ve stayed. But I couldn’t breathe.

“Finnick, wait!” Elodie’s voice rang out, broken and desperate. “Please, don’t leave me. I swear to you, I’ve never been with anyone else. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”

I stopped. Turned. Looked at her.

This was the woman who had stood by me through every trial. Could she really be lying now?

“Elodie,” I said, my voice softer. “This doesn’t make sense. How do you explain this?”

“I don’t understand it either. But please, Finnick, you have to believe me.”

I looked at the baby again. And then I saw it—my eyes. A dimple on her left cheek. Just like mine.

I crossed the room and cupped Elodie’s cheek. “I’m here. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not leaving you. We’ll figure this out together.”

She collapsed against me, sobbing. I held them both. I don’t know how long we stayed like that.

Eventually, Elodie nodded off. Exhausted. I gently untangled myself.

“I just need a minute,” I whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, scared I wouldn’t return. But I had to clear my head.

I stepped into the hallway. The door clicked softly behind me.

“Finnick,” a voice called.

My mother stood near the window, arms crossed, face hard.

“Mom,” I said flatly.

She didn’t waste time. “You can’t stay with her after this. You saw the baby. That’s not your child.”

“She is my child,” I said. But my voice faltered. Doubt gnawed at me.

Mom moved closer. “Don’t be naive. Elodie betrayed you. You need to wake up.”

Her words hit like a punch. I wanted to shout, but the words stuck.

“Mom, I… I don’t know,” I admitted.

She softened slightly. “You deserve better. She’s not who you thought she was.”

I pulled away. “No. This isn’t just about me. That’s my wife and daughter in there. I can’t just walk away.”

Mom gave me a pitying look. “Sometimes you have to make hard decisions.”

“I deserve the truth,” I said.

“Just be careful,” she warned. “Don’t let love blind you.”

I turned and walked away. I couldn’t listen to her doubts anymore.

I made my way to the hospital’s genetics department. Every step felt heavier.

The doctor was calm, professional. They took my blood, swabbed my cheek, and promised results soon.

I paced the waiting area, replaying everything. Elodie’s face. The baby’s eyes. My mother’s voice.

Finally, the call came.

“The test confirms you are the biological father.”

Relief hit me like a wave. Then guilt. Sharp and unforgiving.

How could I have doubted her?

The doctor explained recessive genes. Traits from generations back. It made sense. But it didn’t erase the shame.

I returned to the room, results in hand.

Elodie looked up, eyes filled with hope.

I crossed the room and held out the paper.

Her hands trembled. She read. Then broke down in tears.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry I doubted you.”

She pulled me close, our daughter nestled between us.

“We’ll be okay now,” she said softly.

And as I held them both, I made a vow: no matter what came our way, I would protect my family. This was my wife. My child. And I would never let doubt or judgment come between us again.