“Teacher, may I ask, how authentic is this essay? If it doesn’t match reality, is it really appropriate for it to win first place?”
In that instant, it felt as though someone had slapped me across the face in public.
I barely held myself together, made an excuse about feeling unwell, and left early.
The moment I sat in my car, I realized my hands were shaking.
A strange, nameless panic rose in my chest.
Before I could sort through my thoughts, a notification popped up on my phone. It was our family’s medical checkup report from the hospital.
When my eyes landed on the final line, my entire body went rigid.
[Child’s blood type: A]
I checked it again. And again. Three times in total.
My husband, Viggo, and I—one of us is AB, the other B.
No matter how you calculate it, we could never have an A-type child!
My first reaction was that the system must be wrong, so I immediately called the doctor.
After listening, he asked carefully, “Has your daughter’s father always handled her medical checkups?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
There was a brief pause. When the doctor spoke again, his tone was cautious and deliberate.
“There is only one explanation.”