Confusion at its best.

“Life is a spread of surprises; it is both a privilege and a challenge to respond to things and events, and find the right answers to prickly questions. In this process, however, it might be wise to change first our perception and our way of looking at things, before persistently changing the very things and altering their hallmark.”

—Erik Pevernagie.

Maverick.

Taking care of a child was more work than he thought.

Marcel, although he looked innocent was one stubborn child. Maverick had tried everything to get the little fellow to eat, all to no avail. The boy had been crying since Michelle dropped him to go get some supplies for him.

Currently, they were both staring at each other, with Marcel still sniffing and Maverick drained.

He sighed in relief as he heard the door being pushed open. Michelle walked in with shopping bags, dumping them on the table and hurriedly running to carry the crying boy.

"My God, Ricky! You don't even know how to pacify a child? What do you even know how to do?"

Glaring at him, she held the boy on her hip bone as she walked to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she was out with him. This time, he was happily munching on doughnuts with a wrap of chocolate in his second hand. This was the same boy he tried to soothe for more than two hours without success.

He watched as Michelle sang nursery rhymes along with him from her phone and them giggling at intervals. She did not even glance at him.

Sulking, Maverick went to his room and threw off his suit and shoes. During his shower, his mind wandered back to the conversation with the Reverend sister. He could agree with the fact that he was a terrible husband, but he couldn't come to terms with the story that Leticia paid off the orphanage to take the child.

He could vividly remember how grieved she was on the loss of the babies, especially the second one. During the period after she had the stillbirth, she was so broken that she would cry herself to sleep most nights probably thinking he was asleep, other times she would be staring into space, and until she was called thrice or more, she would hear nothing. It was so bad that she was becoming skinny.

Aside from that, she became desperate to have babies to the point that it started to bother him. Since he could do nothing to make her feel better, he just gave her sex as often as she wanted, hoping it would lessen her pain.

Deep down he felt horrible, horrible that he wasn't there when she needed him the most even when he promised to be. He had anticipated the birth of the child, always imagining how he'd spoil him or her. He secretly set up a playhouse in one of the empty rooms by himself, clothes and shoes and all in endless supply, filling the entire cabinet for his baby, their baby.

Priding himself in the thought that he would soon be a father, he bought nearly every baby thing he could lay his hands on whenever he journeyed, until the heart-shattering news that the baby did not survive reached him. He was close to losing it when he heard, but for the sake of his wife, he had to swallow it in and stay strong, act like he wasn't pained to avoid making her feel like it was her fault.

From that period till the whole saga, their rate of intimacy had increased greatly. Sometimes it felt like he was taking advantage of her fragile state, but at the same time it was the only way he knew could help reduce her distress.

And they last had sex the day he went on the emergency journey after which everything went downhill. Maverick shook his head as the images were beginning to fill his mind. Now was not the time for that.

Anyways for the fact that he witnessed all that, he couldn't accept that all that was an act. It was impossible. 

Snapping out of his thoughts, he put off the shower and stepped out, shrugging on his bathrobe. He trudged into his walk-in closet and picked out a pair of dark blue joggers and a plain white lux T-shirt.

The paternity test.

He rushed into the room, grabbing his phone from beside the bedside lamp but paused as he was trying in the password.  couldn't recollect any of his friends who were laboratory scientists.

He searched his brain for a few minutes but still didn't get answers. Michelle. Maybe she would know someone.

Maverick went to the living room. This time, Michelle and Marcel were on the couch with Marcel laying on her lap while she played with his curly hair.

"Tomi," he called.

"Shhh!" She placed her index finger on her lips.

He sat on the adjacent couch, heeding her warning. Michelle got up, carrying the boy in her arms as she disappeared down the hallway.

"You were saying?" She plopped on the chair beside him, folding her legs in the monk style.

"About the DNA test, do you know any lab scientist who can carry it out? I don't think I know any."

"That's true..." She closed her eyes, face set straight with her brows knit together in concentration. "Yes! This guy—Osas."

"Hm? Who's that?"

"Osas now. The guy that worked part-time for Mom. He was the Gardener for a while at the house when I newly entered university... Oh yeah sorry, you won't know him. I can talk to him though."

"Can he be trusted?"

"Yes!"

The speed at which she replied to the question made him cock a brow.

"Why do you sound so enthusiastic?"

"N-nothing! It's nothing really."

Maverick maintained his stare, leaning forward with his hands clasped together between his legs.

"I said nothing. Why are you staring at me like that? I didn't like him oh!"

Ah! So that was it...

She paled as she seemingly realised what she blurted out.

"I-I swear I don't... Urgh!" She groaned.

With the corner of his lips pulled into a smirk, Maverick leaned back on his seat. "Forget it. Just tell me about how this Osas guy can be of help to me."

Michelle cleared her throat, the pink color fading from her cheeks. "I can remember that during the period he worked at the house, Mom used to send him to Uncle Clinton's hospital to learn some practical stuff at the laboratory because he was studying Medical Laboratory Science in his third year. According to her, it would help him a great deal, and since he was very intelligent and competent, he was a good investment." She finished.

If their mother could see potential in the boy, it meant he was that good.

"So when last did you hear from him?"

"Mom. She told me when he graduated. She was so elated because he graduated as the best student with a first-class in his department that year."

With a satisfied nod, he asked if she could get in touch with him and Michelle replied in affirmative. She got on it immediately.

She put the phone on speaker and placed it on the centre table. He accepted the call after two rings.

"Hello? Osas Benedict speaking. Please who is this?"

"Hi, Osas! It's been a while, this is Michelle Wagner."

Some shuffles were heard on the other side. "Michelle? Did you say Michelle?"

Michelle gave a light chuckle. "Of course, it's me, Mimi. How have you been Osas?"

"Oh my! What a surprise! I've been good, and you?"

He sounded so enthusiastic. Maverick was beginning to wonder if there was some sort of friendship between the both of them. Not the romantic kind obviously. If it was, he would have sounded more surprised or flustered than enthused. But it was a different case for Michelle. One that he didn't have the time to dwell on, yet.

"I'm okay oh. I needed a little help from you, I don't know if you would be able to?"

"Sure, why not? If it's something I can do then I'll be glad to help."

"Thank you. My older brother is in a bit of a situation right now. We need a paternity test."

"Hmm... Okay, what else?"

"I want to know the cost, requirements, when we can get it done and when we can get the results."

"Then I can be of utmost help to you. First of all, the test is costly—around a hundred thousand and more. That will be ascertained when they get to the hospital though. We will need the father, mother —if possible— and child to be available, then the birth certificate of the child. Sample collection will be carried out and the samples examined. You will be able to receive the result in a week tops. Say three to four days minimum. I'll be happy if they can come tomorrow as I won't be on seat after tomorrow and the day after. If you don't mind I'll text you the hospital address after the call."

"Sure sure, I don't mind, but this is where the problem comes in. The mother is not around at the moment, and she won't be anytime soon. Is there a way around that?"

"Hm..." A little pause. "It's not a serious issue. But the hospital would like to know why the test has to be done without her consent, and in most cases, her presence is optional provided a sample can be gotten from her. A hair or sputum sample should do."

Hair... Where would he get her hair from?:

"Oh okay then. Thank you so much for your help."

"Don't mention. How's Mom? I haven't heard from her for some weeks now."

"She's good. I'll inform her about that."

"Thank you. I hope I can contact you with this number? It would be nice to catch up on old times."

Michelle smiled. "Why not? I would love to do that too."

"Alright then, thanks for calling. Have a good night."

"And you too. Bye."

She hung up the call, wearing a faint faraway smile as she set the phone down.

"You heard all that he said."

Maverick nodded, running his fingers through his hair. The issue was the sample now. Humming, he bade Michelle good night and trudged back to his room.

He slowed his steps as he reached the dressing mirror, stopping to stare at the chair that sat in front with the cosmetics on the table. Creams, cleansers and mostly hair stuff from luxury brands that he used to buy for her from every of his journey stood neatly arranged.

Images of her carefully braiding or twisting her long natural hair appeared in his head as he stared longer. Sometimes she would brush it and forget to throw the hair at the teeth of the brush as she would be so carried away pampering it. She was tidy in every aspect except that.

Chuckling, he took a step forward but halted when it hit him; the hair at the teeth of the brush! He whirled back, searching for the brush with his eyes. Lo and behold, it lay behind her shampoo, and with hair between the teeth.

With a relieved sigh, he grabbed the brush for further inspection and it was there as usual. He pulled out the first drawer and carefully placed it inside.

Shoving his hands into his pocket, he continued his movement until he entered the mini-study. He drew out the recliner and sat on it, bending to switch on the computer so he could resume the model he was drawing before all the interruptions.

After over twenty minutes of trying to draw something, he gave up. The thoughts plaguing his mind were not helping matters at all. He needed concentration but he just could not get it.

His mind kept wandering and wandering around the possibilities that Leticia was the culprit or not, that she gave out the child or did not, that she was responsible for all the crimes or not.

The thoughts gave rise to confusion, and confusion to straining of his brain cells, and the straining to a throbbing headache. Questions upon questions, scenarios upon scenarios, none of them made sense—at all.

Maverick switched the computer off and entered the room, going straight under the covers, willing himself to stop asking questions. The paternity test would be a great start to solve all the mysteries involved. Maybe.

In a few hours, he was up from the bed. The anticipation of the test and the results contributed to his lack of sleep. He kept tossing and turning in the night, getting only two hours of sleep at most out of almost seven hours of laying on his bed.

He sat up, running his fingers through his hair. Truth be told, he was sleepy as hell but it wouldn't just come. He threw off the duvet from his body, turning to switch on the bedside lamp and slipping into his slides.

After that, he went to have his bath. On leaving the bathroom, he wrapped the white bathrobe around himself, thinking of what to wear for the day.

He settled for a plain dark blue suit with a checkered tie and a sky blue dress shirt.

Maverick exited his room with his briefcase after dressing up. Michelle sat on the dining table, feeding Marcel spoonfuls of cornflakes.

The cornflakes dragged his mind back to where he struggled to take it from. Leticia. A smile creeped on his face unconsciously. Her love for cornflakes was baffling, she could live on it for two whole days without eating anything else. He never understood why she liked it so much, but he had no right to stop her from liking it either. It was her choice after all.

"Hey big bro, how was your night?" Michelle greeted with a wave of her free hand. "Baby, don't do that," she scolded the boy, wiping his hands that he dipped into the bowl of milk with a handkerchief.

Marcel giggled, slipping out his little tongue to Michelle.

It was just in the space of an afternoon and the next morning that she and the child bonded so much. One would think she was his mother if seeing them together for the first time.

Nodding his head in reply to her question, Maverick approached the kitchen door.

"Good morning Daddy," his tiny voice reached Maverick's ears.

His outstretched arm that was about to grip the door handle hung in the air, his muscles stiffening. Daddy?

It just reminded him all over again. Racing heart, sweaty palms, trembling limbs; same way he felt when he heard Leticia was pregnant. Based on the thought of being called Daddy, the father of a child. It was beyond common sense, but at that moment he chose to believe that their first baby was not dead, and that baby was Marcel. If by chance the paternity test came out negative, he would adopt the boy--in fact, it would come out positive.

Releasing his taut muscles, he dropped his arm, turning back to face him. "How are you, my boy? Did you sleep well?"

The boy nodded vigorously with a big grin, leaving Maverick no choice but to smile back.

"Aww, I thought you would scold him for calling you that, especially with the way you were glaring at him yesterday like you wanted to flush him down the toilet," Michelle said, bursting into a short fit of laughter. "Your food is on the kitchen island. I made French toast and coffee."

As they ate, Marcel stretched his arms towards Maverick, his big white eyes shining with happiness. Without wasting time, he collected the child. He fed the boy as he ate also, his insides warming at the action.

Maverick was more grateful than ever for his sister. Throughout the week she handled the child so well like he was hers, feeding him, taking him places, buying him stuff and all that because of the workload on him.

They were able to get the test done after collecting the birth certificate from the orphanage. The date was the same day Leticia gave birth, which gave him more reason to believe that the child was theirs.

In three days the results were out.

During one of the office meetings that day, he was messaged to get the result but since he couldn't go, he asked Michelle to get it for him.

She presented the file to him when he got home and had freshened up. Her facial expression was blank, not giving any clue as to how the result came out.

He hesitated in collecting the file, his heart racing as he conjured up numerous possibilities of being positive or negative. Summoning courage, he grabbed the file, taking off the seal which indicated that it had not been opened yet. So his sister probably did not know how it was.

The paper was tabulated with 'child' printed on the top left corner and 'father' at the top right corner. Some figures circled on both sides and marked green.

He skimmed through the rest of the paper, down to the line after the table that gave rise to a rectangular box.

The interpretation, combined paternity index and probability of paternity.

99.9998 %, it read.

He read further, "the alleged father is not excluded as the biological father of the tested child. Based on the analysis of the DNA loci listed, the probability of paternity is 99.9998 per cent."

"M-Michelle, this means that he's my son, right?" Maverick could not remember the last time he stuttered, but this was overwhelming.

"Apparently," she replied. "Marcel is you and Leticia's baby. Congratulations Ricky."

She pulled his transfixed figure into a tight hug.

His grip on the paper loosened, sending it floating in the air as it slowly dropped to the ground, her interpretation ringing in his head.

Marcel was his son. Their son. Their first baby.

This chapter is dedicated to Rizama2003 for your support 🥺 Thank you so much 😩🥰🥰

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