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"Why, doctor? What happened?" My chest was pounding violently.
And then came the words that shattered my world…
— Your husband is not the biological father of your son.
"That's impossible!" I almost screamed. "I've always been faithful. I've never had anyone else!"
The doctor took a deep breath:
— Yes, but the strangest thing is. You're not his biological mother either.
Everything blurred before my eyes. I couldn't comprehend it.
"What do you mean? How is that possible?"
"That's what we need to determine," he explained. "We'll repeat the tests to rule out any errors. Then we'll check the hospital records."
We repeated the DNA test. The results were the same. For two weeks, I was in a fog. My husband remained silent, looking at me with distrust, and I cried at night, holding my son tightly.
We began an investigation. We searched through old documents, searching for doctors and nurses who worked at the time. Many disappeared, but the truth was emerging piece by piece.
Two months later, we learned:
There had indeed been a baby swap in our maternity ward. Our biological child had been mistakenly given to another family, and we had received someone else's child.
The worst part was that such incidents occurred more than once at this hospital. Management covered up the errors, but we uncovered the evidence.
I no longer knew how to live. The son I loved with all my soul was not my flesh and blood. But he was still my child.
My husband needed time to accept it.
And somewhere out there is our real child—perhaps also raised by aliens.
