Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 70

Selene’s POV

The envelope arrives by certified mail on a Tuesday.

I sign for it without thinking—just another piece of legal paperwork in the endless stream—and carry it inside before I realize what I'm holding. The return address: Genomic Testing Associates. The case number printed in the corner.

The DNA results.

I stand in the foyer, holding the envelope like it contains a bomb. Which, in a way, it does.

Axel comes down the stairs, sees my face, stops cold. "Is that—"

"Yeah."

We stare at each other. The babies are with Naomi for the afternoon, giving us space to prepare for the trial. Now there's this.

"Should we wait for Mateo?"

"He's upstairs. Resting his knee."

"Get him."

Three minutes later, we're sitting around the kitchen table. The envelope lies between us, its edges perfectly crisp, its contents perfectly unknown. The seal is intact. The truth is inside, waiting.

"We don't have to open it," Axel says. "The court gets a copy. Cassian's lawyers get a copy. We can let them deal with it and never look."

"Can we?" Mateo's voice is strange—too flat, too careful. "Can we really just... not know?"

"We agreed," I remind him gently. "From the beginning. Biology doesn't determine parenthood. We're all three parents to all three children, regardless of what any test says."

"I know what we agreed." He won't meet my eyes. "But what if..."

"What if what?"

Silence. Mateo stares at the envelope, and something in his expression makes my therapist brain sit up and pay attention. He's not just anxious. He's guilty.

"Mateo." I reach across the table, touch his hand. "What's going on?"

He flinches. Actually flinches from my touch. And I know—I know with the certainty that comes from years of reading people—that he's been carrying something.

"Cassian called me," he says quietly.

Axel goes rigid. "When?"

"Three days ago. When you were both out. He said—" Mateo's voice breaks. He takes a breath, tries again. "He has the results. He told me the breakdown."

The kitchen feels suddenly airless. "What breakdown?"

"Two and one." The words come out like a confession. "Two of the babies are Axel's. One is mine. He called to tell me I'm the 'minority share.' The one-third father while Axel gets two-thirds."

Nobody speaks. I watch Axel's face shift through shock, understanding, and something that looks like fury—not at Mateo, at Cassian.

"That fucking—" Axel stops himself. Controls his voice. "He called to poison you. Like he did before, with the text."

"I know. I know that's what it was." Mateo's hands are shaking. "But it worked. I've been looking at the kids for three days trying to figure out which one is mine. Doing the math in my head. Wondering if Elio's mine because he reaches for me, or if Aria's mine because she has my coloring, or if—" His voice cracks. "I can't stop thinking about it. The numbers are in my head and I can't get them out."

"Why didn't you tell us?" I keep my voice gentle, but the hurt is there.

"Because we promised to stay in the dark. And I let him drag me into the light without your permission." Mateo finally looks at me, eyes wet. "I broke our agreement. I took his call and listened and now I know things you didn't want to know."

"You know numbers," Axel says slowly. "Two and one. But you don't know which."

"No. He said he doesn't have that part. Or he's saving it." Mateo gestures at the envelope. "That's in there. Which specific child belongs to which specific father."

We all look at the envelope. The truth we chose not to seek, delivered by the court system whether we wanted it or not.

"Two and one," I repeat. The words feel strange in my mouth. Abstract. Numbers without faces. "Okay. Now we all know the ratio."

"Doesn't it bother you?" Mateo's voice is desperate. "Knowing I'm... less?"

"You're not less." Axel's voice is fierce. "You're not a fraction. You're their father—all three of them—regardless of what any test says."

"Easy for you to say. You're the majority."

"Mateo—"

"No, I'm sorry, I know that's not fair, I know you didn't ask for this—" Mateo presses his palms against his eyes. "I'm just so tired of the numbers. They won't stop. Every time I look at them, I'm counting. Wondering. It's making me crazy."

I look at the envelope. At Mateo's shaking hands. At Axel's clenched jaw.

"So we open it," I say. "We find out which child is whose. And then we have all the information, and we can decide what to do with it."

"No." The word comes from both men simultaneously.

"We agreed," Axel says. "Not to know which. The ratio is bad enough—the specific assignment would be worse."

"He's right." Mateo wipes his eyes. "If I knew—if I knew that Elio was mine and Aria and Sören were Axel's—I don't know if I could stop treating them differently. I don't trust myself."

"Then we don't open it." I slide the envelope toward the center of the table. "The ratio is out. Two and one. We can't unlearn that. But which two and which one—that stays sealed."

"And when Cassian uses it?" Mateo asks. "He's going to. Eventually. He'll leak it or tell someone or find a way to make it public."

"Then we deal with it then. But we don't give him the satisfaction of breaking us now."

Axel reaches across the table, takes Mateo's hand. "You're not less. I need you to hear that. Two-thirds of the genetic material doesn't make me two-thirds of a father. That's not how this works."

"How does it work, then?"

"We show up. Every day. For all of them. We change diapers and read stories and discipline and love—equally, consistently, without keeping score." Axel's voice is steady. "Biology gave us a starting point. Choice makes us parents."

Mateo stares at him, something cracking in his expression. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. About the call. I should have—"

"Yeah. You should have." I keep my voice gentle. "But I understand why you didn't. Shame is a powerful silencer."

"We don't do silence anymore," Axel says. "We agreed. Even the ugly parts."

"Even the ugly parts," Mateo echoes. "I'm sorry."

"Forgiven." I squeeze his hand. "Now—what do we do with this?"

We all look at the envelope.

"Safe," Axel decides. "In the home office. Sealed. We don't open it, don't destroy it, just... hold it. In case the children want to know someday, when they're old enough to understand."

"And until then?"

"Until then, we're their parents. All three of us. All three of them." He meets my eyes, then Mateo's. "The numbers don't matter. The names don't matter. What matters is showing up."

Mateo takes a shaky breath. "Two-thirds, one-third. It's going to be in my head. I can't just forget it."

"Then we work through it. Together." I stand, pick up the envelope, hold it like the fragile thing it is. "We don't let Cassian's poison win."

I walk to the home office, place the envelope in the safe, and close the heavy door. The mechanical click of the lock feels like a small victory.

The numbers exist. Two and one. We can't change that.

But which children carry which man's DNA—that stays unknown.

Our choice. Our mystery. Our family.

When I return to the kitchen, Axel has his arm around Mateo, who's still trembling slightly but looks less alone.

"We're okay?" I ask.

"We're working on it," Mateo says.

That's honest enough.

That's all we can promise.