Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 61

The envelope arrives on a Thursday, which feels anticlimactic for something that could destroy us.

Plain manila. Official seal from the testing laboratory. No indication of the bomb it contains—just another piece of mail mixed in with bills and junk and the endless stream of baby product catalogs that somehow find us no matter how many times I unsubscribe.

I stare at it for a full five minutes before picking it up.

The court ordered the samples collected and held in escrow. We weren't supposed to receive results unless Cassian filed an independent paternity claim. But his lawyers sent a formal request last week—one final move in his campaign of destruction—and now the information exists. Printed on paper. Sealed in an envelope that weighs almost nothing and contains everything.

Mateo finds me standing in the kitchen, still holding it like it might bite.

"Is that—"

"Yeah."

He goes still. The easy smile he's been rebuilding over the past weeks freezes on his face. "Did you open it?"

"No." I set it on the counter. "I wanted to wait. For both of you."

"Maybe we should burn it."

"That's not really an option."

"It should be an option. It should definitely be an option." He's pacing now, nervous energy radiating off him. "We agreed. No testing. Not knowing. All three kids are all three of ours, period, end of discussion."

"We agreed before a court ordered the testing. Before Cassian's lawyers made it happen anyway." I lean against the counter, exhaustion settling into my bones. "The information exists now, Mateo. Whether we open it or not."

"But if we don't open it, we don't have to deal with it."

"Until Cassian leaks it. Until someone else gets access. Until it surfaces in some future legal proceeding." I shake my head. "Ignoring it doesn't make it go away. It just means we find out on someone else's terms instead of our own."

Axel arrives home an hour later to find us both staring at the envelope like it's a live grenade.

"I see we're having a fun evening," he observes.

"DNA results," I say. "Arrived today."

He sets down his gym bag. Crosses to the counter. Studies the envelope with that analytical focus he brings to game tape.

"Have you opened it?"

"No."

"Are we going to?"

"That's the question."

We convene in the living room after the babies are asleep. The envelope sits on the coffee table between us—the same table where we've celebrated victories and weathered crises, where we built towers with Elio and negotiated household chores and pretended our unusual family was just like any other.

"I need to say something," Mateo starts. "And I need you both to hear me out before responding."

We nod. Wait.

"I'm terrified of what's in that envelope." His voice is steady, but I can see the effort it costs him. "Not because I think biology changes anything—I meant what I said about that. But because... what if it does? What if we open it and something shifts? What if knowing makes us treat the kids differently, even unconsciously?"

"We wouldn't—" Axel begins.

"You don't know that. Neither do I." Mateo runs a hand through his hair. "Right now, every time I look at Elio or Aria or Sören, I see my children. All of them. Equally. But if I know that one of them is biologically mine and the others aren't—what if that changes? What if I start favoring one without meaning to?"

"The same fear applies to not knowing," I point out gently. "You've already struggled with this. The 'Da-da' incident. The spiral. Not knowing didn't protect you from those feelings."

"But knowing might make them worse."

"Or it might take away their power." Axel leans forward, elbows on knees. "Right now, the unknown is a weapon. Cassian can use it against us. Our own imaginations can use it against us. But if we know—if we face the information and choose to love our children exactly the same—then it becomes just... data. Meaningless data."

"That's very logical," Mateo says.

"I'm a very logical person."

"It's also terrifying."

"Also yes."

I look between them—these two men who've weathered impossible things together. Who've chosen each other, chosen me, chosen our strange and beautiful family despite every obstacle.

The envelope sits there. Waiting.

I reach for it. Feel its weight in my hands. The seal unbroken. The truth still hidden.

"Here's what I know," I say slowly. "I carried all three of them. I felt them move inside me, felt them kick and hiccup and grow. I held each of them the moment they were born. And from that very first second—before any test could tell me anything—they were mine. All of them. Completely."

I turn the envelope over. Study the seal.

"Biology gave me the pregnancy. But love made me their mother. Love makes you their fathers—both of you. That's not going to change because of letters on a piece of paper."

"So what are you saying?" Axel asks quietly.

I set the envelope down. Unopened.

"I'm saying maybe Mateo's right. Maybe knowing doesn't serve us. Maybe the information only has power if we let it."

"But Cassian—"

"Cassian can threaten whatever he wants. But if we don't know the breakdown, if we genuinely can't answer questions about which child belongs to which father—then his threats are empty. We can truthfully say we have no idea. The sealed envelope is our protection, not our vulnerability."

Mateo lets out a breath. "You're serious."

"I'm serious." I look between them. "We keep it sealed. Locked away. The information exists, but we choose not to access it. Not now, not ever—unless the children themselves want to know someday, when they're old enough to understand."

Axel is quiet for a long moment. I can see him turning it over, examining from every angle the way he does with strategic decisions.

"There's risk," he says finally. "If Cassian does leak it somehow. If we find out from him instead of from our own choice."

"There's risk either way. But this way, we're choosing ignorance deliberately. We're saying biology doesn't matter enough to learn. That's a statement. That's a choice."

"What if knowing makes me love one of them differently?" Mateo's voice is raw. "I don't want that. I don't trust myself not to—"

"Then don't know." Axel reaches for his hand. "We don't know. We stay in the dark together."

The three of us look at the envelope. The truth we could have. The truth we're choosing to refuse.

"Together," I say. "We decide together. What do you want?"

"I want to not know," Mateo says. "I want them all to be mine."

"They are all yours," I remind him. "Whatever that paper says."

"Then I don't need to read it."

Axel nods slowly. "I'm with Mateo. The envelope stays sealed."

I pick it up one more time. Feel the weight of the decision we're making.

"We keep it somewhere safe. In case we need it for legal documentation. But we don't open it. We don't let Cassian's weapon become ours."

Mateo pulls us both into a hug—the kind that used to come easily before everything fell apart. For a moment, we just hold each other. Three people who chose a family together and keep choosing it, over and over, despite every obstacle.

"I love you," Mateo says. "Both of you. And our kids. All of them. Whatever's in that envelope."

"We know," Axel murmurs.

"I just needed to say it out loud."

Later, after they've fallen asleep, I lock the envelope in the safe. The combination only we know. The truth sealed away, inaccessible, powerless.

Cassian thought knowing would tear us apart.

We chose not to know.

Family isn't about blood. It's about choice.

And we chose each other.