I Used His Own DNA To Destroy My Husband

Liam had always had Skylar. She wasn’t just his lifelong best female friend; she was a permanent, slightly toxic shadow in our lives. From the first moment I met her, I knew the look in her eye: I was the outsider. The resentment was a cold current beneath her saccharine smile. When we planned a trip with his group, his “Crew,” Skylar was in charge of booking the flights. She somehow forgot to book mine. Just mine. She cried, of course, a delicate, teary apology about being “so scatterbrained.” Liam immediately stepped in, his arm around her, telling me, “Babe, she’s just clumsy. Let it go.” At our wedding, she orchestrated a cruel prank. She and the groomsmen—her acolytes—deliberately smeared cake and God knows what else all over my custom ivory dress during the receiving line. “It’s an old tradition!” she giggled, eyes bright. Liam told me to be the bigger person: “Come on, Anya, it’s just The Guys being The Guys. Don’t let it ruin the day.” After we finished decorating our new home—our marital sanctuary—she threw a “housewarming” party with The Crew that turned it into a disaster zone. Broken art, cigarette burns on the new Persian rug, deep-red wine stains on the white sectional. A violation. I finally snapped. I screamed, years of suppressed rage boiling over. Liam looked bored. He tried to physically soothe me. “She literally overturned a table at a friend’s wedding last month, remember? They get carried away. They’re my blood, Anya. Please, just forgive them.” I felt the familiar, weary weight of my swelling abdomen and bit down on the real fury. My baby. Not worth the stress. But the line had to be drawn. “Next time,” I whispered, the threat heavy and final, “I file for divorce.” After Liam delivered a stern warning to her, Skylar finally backed off. Things were quiet. Too quiet. Until our daughter, Poppy’s, first birthday party. Skylar was staring at Poppy with a calculating look, her brow furrowed in mock concern. “Wow, Liam, she’s getting big. But… she really doesn’t look like you at all, does she?” She tilted her head. “Are you sure she’s yours, bro?” The rest of The Crew quickly chimed in with nervous chuckles and agreement. My face went cold, and Liam was furious. He knew this was too far. He practically shoved them out the door. “That’s it,” he hissed at them. “The cheap shots at Anya I can tolerate. But my daughter? If you ever question my daughter again, you’re not my friends anymore.” That same evening, I stumbled upon a trending post on the Thread. [My daughter just turned one. All my buddies say she doesn’t look like me. I’m afraid my wife cheated. What do I do?]

1 [User 1]: Unless you want to spend the rest of your life raising another man’s kid, go get a DNA test. Stop being a coward. The Original Poster replied: [OP]: I’ve thought about it, but if my wife found out I distrusted her, she’d leave me. I don’t want a divorce. The comments were a mix of insults, calling him a spineless cuck, and others defending him. [User 2]: You call them ‘brothers,’ but do you really think they have your best interest at heart? Toxic friends secretly want to drag you down. [OP]: No way. We grew up together. Why are you all so malicious about my friends? My wife says the same things! Then came the helpful suggestion: [User 3]: Dude, sneak a hair or a toothbrush. Get a quick, private test. If it’s yours, no harm done. If it’s not, you’ve got your exit strategy. Poppy had just had her first birthday. Skylar, Liam’s female friend, had just blatantly suggested Poppy wasn’t his. And now, this post. All the details matched. I looked at Liam, sleeping next to me, already muttering in his sleep. A wave of ice-cold anger and sick betrayal washed over me. I unlocked his phone. I searched, frantically, but there was no trace of The Thread. The last chat records with The Crew were from yesterday, innocuous chatter about fantasy football. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t him. The thought calmed the raging fire in my chest to a mere simmer. I put the phone down, praying for the best. The next morning, Liam woke early, as he always did, to gently care for Poppy. He loved her fiercely; there was no doubt. I started to relax, telling myself the post was a horrible coincidence. But when I came out of the kitchen, holding her warm bowl of mashed fruit purees, I saw him. Liam, bent over the crib, gently, stealthily, pulling a strand of hair from Poppy’s head. “What are you doing!” I lunged forward, shoving him back and snatching my daughter into my arms. Liam looked genuinely startled. “Anya? What the hell?” My voice was shaking. “What were you doing with her hair?” He held up his hand, pinched between his thumb and forefinger was a tiny speck. “You mean this?” “I was grabbing a little fly. It was buzzing around her head.” He looked wounded. “Anya, why would you think I was pulling our baby’s hair? Why are you so aggressive?” The shame hit me instantly. I had wrongly accused him, physically attacked him. “I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I just… I was afraid you’d hurt her.” He dropped the subject, accepting my apology, but his eyes were still hurt. Later, after I’d managed to rock Poppy to sleep, I reopened The Thread. The post had been updated. [OP Update]: Almost got caught pulling a strand of hair this morning. I played it cool and convinced her it was a bug. I don’t think she suspects anything. Help me come up with a better plan.

2 My head exploded. A black curtain dropped over my vision, and I staggered against the wall. It was him. There were too many coincidences, too many agonizing parallels. Every instinct screamed at me to march into the living room, shove the phone in his face, demand the DNA test, and start the divorce. But then I saw a new comment on the thread. [User 4]: I see you’re in the Tri-State area, friend. Where exactly? I have a guy at a private lab who can rush the results. DM me. Don’t raise another man’s kid. The OP replied: [OP]: I’m in Philadelphia. DMing you now. My relief was so profound it was almost painful. I was in New York. The poster was in Philly. I had almost ruined everything, again, based on a poisonous suspicion. Had I confronted Liam, the distrust would have fractured us permanently. Liam had always stressed that trust was the foundation of our relationship. I remembered the college trip. He and The Crew—Skylar included—had secretly planned an island getaway. He’d only told me about it a week before departure, an afterthought. I already resented how much he shared with Skylar that he kept from me. I felt like the girlfriend was the mistress. I went to the airport with him, only to find Skylar hadn’t bought my ticket. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Anya!” she wailed. “I’m just so used to buying six tickets for The Crew, I completely forgot to include you!” I knew it was malicious, not clumsy. My face was cold stone. Liam’s friends started calling me melodramatic and self-centered. Liam tried to smooth things over. “Don’t be mad. She’s just an airhead. I’ll stay back with you.” The Crew immediately turned on him, calling him whipped and a betrayer. He looked trapped, miserable. I forced a calm smile. “Go. I’m fine.” He checked in on me until he boarded. The moment his plane lifted off, I blocked his number, all The Crew’s numbers, and sent him a single text: Have fun with Skylar. He took the red-eye home that night. He was frantic, begging for forgiveness. I refused to see him. Finally, desperate, he attempted suicide—jumping into a freezing-cold river. I only went to the hospital when his mother called me. He explained the island trip was meant to be a surprise for me. “Skylar told me girls love those spontaneous gifts,” he said. He promised to cut all ties with Skylar. “Whatever happens,” he’d cried, clutching me, “you have to trust me, Anya. The lack of trust is worse than dying.” And he had kept his word. For the most part. Until now. I felt a wash of fresh guilt. I had almost destroyed the faith he had worked so hard to rebuild. To make it up to him, I decided to send Poppy to the nanny and take Liam on a spontaneous date. I messaged him and went to the walk-in closet to pick out clothes for both of us. It was while I was rummaging through his socks drawer for a specific brand that my fingers hit something hard underneath. I pulled it out. It was a phone. A burner. One I had never seen before. 3 The screen lock was the same as his main phone. Click. My fingers instinctively went to The Thread. I found the app. I clicked on the familiar user ID. There was the post. My mind didn’t just buzz; it went silent. The tears started before the shock registered. I choked them back and clicked on the private messages. There it was. The chat with the “Tri-State” user. [OP]: Actually, man, I’m in New York. My ex-wife is in Philadelphia, so I assumed I was close. How fast can you get a rush job done? I’m thinking of bringing in a toothbrush this afternoon. The air rushed out of my lungs. New York. Our city. The Philadelphia comment was just a decoy. A smokescreen for an anonymous forum. I closed the app, the rage returning, but this time, it was icy. I started to dig, to peel back the layers of our life. The hidden phone held so much more. In his secondary messaging app, there was a group chat with The Crew, prominently titled: The Skylar Faithful. Skylar’s frantic messages: Liam, I swear I didn’t mean to say that in front of Anya! You have to tell her I didn’t mean it! She already hates me. Now she’ll think I’m trying to break you two up! The Crew chimed in, defending her. Liam was silent for hours. Then Skylar: But Liam, you know I’m only saying it because I love you, bro. She genuinely doesn’t look like you. I’m just looking out for you, man. I’d hate for you to be a cuck and raise a kid that’s not yours. Liam’s only reply: Shut up. But then, he’d posted to The Thread. Scrolling up, I saw photos of him at bars, women draped over him. All the times he said he was “working late” or “on a sales trip.” He was out playing around with Skylar and The Crew. I let out a single, hysterical laugh. It was a joke. Our marriage was a sick, pathetic joke. I checked his other social media app. Skylar was constantly sending him “suggestive” videos. Skylar: Look at this body, bro. Much hotter than the ice queen at home, right? Skylar: I’m giving you the good stuff, man. Why are you still mad at me? His replies were always just ‘Go to hell’ or ‘Knock it off,’ but every single one of those videos was marked ‘Seen.’ The digital evidence felt like a thousand tiny lashes across my face. I sank to the floor, my legs useless. My face was pale, my chest burning. He’d lied about everything. The avoidance. The trust. The distance from Skylar. It was all a performance for the stupid, trusting wife. He and Skylar had never been apart. They had watched me, the idiot, living in blissful ignorance. A wave of nausea hit me. I forced myself up. I heard the nanny’s voice outside. “Mrs. Hayes is in the bedroom.” Click. The door opened. Liam was smiling, walking toward me, his face bright. “Hey, honey! I took the day off. Nanny is with Poppy. Where are we going on our date?” His smile died as his eyes met mine. “Anya? What’s wrong?” He reached out to wipe a tear. I flinched away from his touch, looking at him with naked disgust. I picked up the hidden phone, opened The Thread, and held the screen up to his face. “So,” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Is the DNA test done?”

4 Liam’s face went instantly white. “Anya—what test? I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I gave a cold, sharp laugh. “Don’t you? You told your internet friend you’d grab Poppy’s toothbrush this afternoon, Liam. Did you forget?” “I was just… I was having a momentary freak-out! I saw your post, and I got paranoid, so I posted a burner! I never went through with it, I swear!” he babbled, desperate. I ignored his pathetic plea and held out my hand. “Let me see the results, then. Maybe I did cheat. Maybe the baby’s not yours. Wouldn’t that be a shame?” My cold composure terrified him. “Anya, please, you know I would never go through with it. I just needed to vent—” I tossed the phone onto the bed. “Fine. Then let’s go. Right now.” I grabbed Poppy from the crib. “We’re going to the lab. Together. We’ll do a full, legitimate DNA test. Wouldn’t want you to worry yourself sick on an internet forum, would we?” Liam was shaking, his face pasty white. I dragged him toward the garage. “Oh, and you should call your ‘Skylar Faithful’ Crew,” I added, looking back at him. “Let them all come. They’ve earned the right to see whether their friend’s daughter is your seed.” Liam was on the verge of tears. “Anya, please. We don’t have to go. I was wrong. I was stupid. I know I was wrong!” I shoved him into the passenger seat and snatched his main phone. I typed into The Skylar Faithful group chat: DNA Test at the lab in an hour. Come watch. Liam is finally getting peace of mind. Skylar was the first to reply: BRO! FINALLY! Don’t worry, man. The Crew has your back. No woman is worth this trouble! We’re heading there now! When The Crew showed up at the hospital, they froze the moment they saw me holding Poppy. Then Skylar stepped forward, hitting Liam on the shoulder with a triumphant smile. “Good for you, Liam! You finally grew a spine!” She turned to me. “Don’t be mad, Anya. What man wouldn’t want to know the truth? This is for his peace of mind. You understand, right?” “I understand perfectly,” I nodded, my face empty. The nurse led us back. Liam, Poppy, and I all gave blood samples. When the needle pricked my daughter’s tiny vein, she looked at the nurse, confused, then burst into inconsolable tears. The sheer terror in her wail shattered my composure. The cold facade I’d built crumpled. I pulled her into my chest, rocking her, my own tears finally falling. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered. I’m sorry I chose this man to be your father. I’m sorry you have to go through this because of my failure. We waited for hours. Finally, the doctor came out with the report. Skylar snatched it before anyone else could react. She read it quickly, then threw her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with performative shock. “Liam!” she gasped. “It says… it says the baby isn’t yours! Anya cheated on you!”

5 “What the hell are you talking about!” Liam, who had been sitting hunched over in silent misery, jumped to his feet with a roar. He grabbed Skylar by the lapels of her denim jacket. “Say that again, and I swear to God I’ll choke you!” Skylar was genuinely terrified, tears streaming down her face. She held out the report. “Bro, it’s on the paper! Not me! It says the child is Anya’s, but not yours! Why are you screaming at me? She’s the one who cheated!” The rest of The Crew pulled Liam off her, grabbing the report and passing it around. Their faces darkened with a sudden, vindictive solidarity. “It’s true, Liam. She did it! The bitch cheated on you!” Liam wouldn’t believe it. “I already took a test this morning—a quick one with the toothbrush. Poppy is my daughter! You’re trying to set us up!” Ah. So he did lie this morning. A fresh wave of disgust washed over me. Liam grabbed the official report, his eyes scanning every word. When he hit the line stating exclusion of paternity, he swayed. He grabbed the doctor’s arm. “This is wrong! Your lab is wrong! I want a retest!” The doctor frowned, unimpressed. “Sir, this is a state-certified facility. We don’t make mistakes. What lab did you use this morning?” Liam stammered out the name of the lab he’d found on The Thread. The doctor scoffed. “Never heard of it. Probably a private storefront scam. You can do this test a hundred times, and the results will be the same.” The doctor’s certainty hit Liam like a sledgehammer. His eyes turned bloodshot. He seized my shoulders, his grip bruising. “Anya. Tell me. Why? I gave you everything! Didn’t I love you enough? I cut off my friends for you! I was faithful! I almost died for you!” Poppy, startled by the noise, started to cry, reaching for him. “Dada?” He recoiled from her hand as if she were poisonous. “Don’t touch me! You’re dirty!” SLAP! My hand cracked across his cheek. The sound echoed in the sterile hallway. Liam stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief and a new, terrible hatred. “You hit me? After you cheated? You betrayed me! You raised another man’s kid in my home! You have no right, Anya!” He was spiraling. “Who is it? Tell me the name of the bastard you slept with!” I stepped away, taking Poppy further down the hall. “There’s nothing to explain.” I looked back at him, my voice flat. “Let’s file for divorce.”