“You’re raising a dead woman’s affair baby.”

My sister-in-law, Isabel, shoved a DNA test in my face. She had gone behind my back, stolen my daughter’s DNA, and run a test without my consent. But this wasn’t just about Ava. It was about a cruel lie my brother, Ronaldo, had fed his fiancée.

I stood there, stunned. Then, I laughed—hard.

“What’s so funny?” Isabel snapped.

“You stole my daughter’s DNA? What are you, a detective?” I shot back, but my laughter died the moment I saw Ava clinging to my leg, confused and scared.

“Get out of my house,” I growled.

“Jake, please—”

“No. You waltzed in here with accusations in front of my daughter. Do you expect a medal? Get. Out.”

Ava’s little fingers dug into my leg. “Daddy, why is Aunt Isabel mad? Did I do something bad?”

I knelt, meeting her worried gaze. “No, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong.”

Isabel’s face crumpled. “Just listen—”

“I think you’ve said enough,” I cut her off, lifting Ava into my arms.

As Isabel retreated, Ava whispered, “Are you still my daddy?”

The question shattered me. I held her tight. “Always, baby girl. Always and forever.”

Let me back up.

I’m Jake, 30 years old, and Ava is my daughter—not by blood, but by love. Her parents, my best friends, died in a car crash when she was three months old. No family stepped up. So, I did.

My family knew she was adopted. My daughter knew she was adopted. No secrets. But apparently, Ronaldo and Isabel had a different version of events in their heads.

It all started at my parents’ house weeks ago. Isabel fixated on an old photo of me, Hannah, and Daniel—Ava’s real parents. She asked questions, made quiet calls, and soon enough, she and Ronaldo had cooked up a conspiracy.

The DNA test was their “proof.”

When I confronted Isabel, she blurted, “Ava looks nothing like you! If she wasn’t yours, she had to be a—”

“An affair baby?” I finished, incredulous.

“You never said she wasn’t biologically yours,” she argued.

“Because it’s none of your damn business.”

Then, the truth clicked. “Ronaldo put you up to this, didn’t he?”

She hesitated.

When I confronted Ronaldo, I was already done with him.

“You actually thought I had an affair with a married woman and lied for years?” I demanded.

“You never wanted kids. Then, out of nowhere, you adopt a baby? What was I supposed to think?” he shot back.

I scoffed. “Maybe that I loved her parents and wasn’t going to let their daughter grow up with strangers.”

He muttered something about “sacrificing” my life for Ava, and that’s when I lost it.

“Sacrifice?” I spat. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to love someone more than yourself? To move mountains for them without hesitation? That’s not obligation. That’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”

Ronaldo looked away, silent.

Isabel showed up at my house the next day, teary-eyed. “I’m sorry, Jake. My mom had an affair, and my dad never recovered. I thought I was helping you. But I was wrong.”

She hesitated. “I think I’m leaving Ronaldo. If he could lie to me about this for two years, what else is he capable of?”

I just nodded.

As for Ronaldo? We were done.

That night, as I tucked Ava in, she whispered, “I’m YOUR daughter, right?”

I kissed her forehead. “Always.”

And that’s the only truth that’s ever mattered.

A few days later, Isabel moved away. Ronaldo started therapy. My parents showered Ava with love.

As for me and my daughter? We were good. Better than good.

And no DNA test would ever change that.