01/11/2026
I was sitting in my car outside the genetics lab, staring at two envelopes that were about to destroy my entire life.
Twin A: Biological Father - Michael Hayes (Patient's Husband)
Twin B: Biological Father - Unknown Male
My hands wouldn't stop shaking. The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. This wasn't possible. This couldn't be real.
My three-year-old twins were in daycare, singing songs and eating snacks, completely oblivious that their mother's world had just imploded. Lily and Owen. Born six minutes apart. Identical in every way that mattered—same bright eyes, same infectious laugh, same way they held hands when they were scared.
Except they weren't identical. Not genetically. Not biologically.
Because somehow, impossibly, my twins had different fathers.
I'd read about this online once. Heteropaternal superfecundation. A one-in-a-million phenomenon where a woman releases multiple eggs during ovulation and they're fertilized by s***m from different men within a short window. I'd thought it was fascinating. A medical curiosity.
I never imagined I'd be living it.
My phone buzzed. A text from Michael: "Hey babe, picking up dinner on the way home. Thinking pizza? Love you."
Love you. Those words felt like glass in my throat.
Because if Owen was Michael's son but Lily wasn't, that meant I'd slept with someone else during the exact same fertile window. Within days. Maybe hours.
And I had no memory of it.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to remember that week three years ago. We'd been trying for a baby for months. I was tracking everything—ovulation, temperature, timing. Michael had been traveling for work. He'd come home that Thursday night. We'd been together that weekend.
But there was a gap. Wednesday. Wednesday night was blank.
I'd gone out with my best friend Jenna for her birthday. We'd gone to that new wine bar downtown. I remembered the first few drinks. I remembered laughing. And then... nothing. I'd woken up in my own bed the next morning with the w
