My Baby Was Born with a Different Eye Color… and My Husband Asked for a DNA Test”

I will never forget Javier’s face when the nurse put our baby in my arms. Matthew opened his eyes for the first time… and they were blue. Deep blue, like summer skies, like Paul Newman, like any cheap romance novel hero.

“Look, love! He’s perfect!” I said, ecstatic.

Javier stared at him like he’d just seen a ghost in a diaper.

“Uh… very cute,” he muttered.
“Are you okay? You look… weird.”
“It’s just… well… his eyes are… very… blue.”
“Oh, yes, many babies are born with blue eyes. They usually change,” I said, too tired to process the odd tone.

The next few days in the hospital were strange. Javier carried the baby like he was holding a ticking time bomb. I watched him with my eyes closed, like a bad detective in a noir film, looking for clues.

“How much do you see in him?” I asked on day three.
“Nothing… nothing… He reminds me of someone…”
“Literal newborn, Javier. He looks like a potato with eyes.”

A week later, at three in the morning, while I was trying to get Matthew to burp, Javier came in with the face of someone attending a funeral.

“We need to talk.”
“Oh no… nobody ever says that at three a.m. with good news.”
“I want to do a DNA test on the baby.”

I froze, Matthew chose that exact moment to burp loudly.

“Excuse me? Did you just say what I think you said?”
“It’s just… neither of us have blue eyes. No one in our families has blue eyes.”
“Javier… SERIOUSLY? After three years of fertility treatments, you’re accusing me of cheating?”
“Well, it’s just—”
“Or with the ultrasound that smells like tuna? Or the injections that made my body swell like a balloon? You think someone else’s sperm magically… osmoses into me?”

Finally, I sighed:
“Fine, do the test. But know this: whatever the result says, what you did is not forgotten.”

Two weeks later, Javier showed up with an envelope, looking like a scolded dog.

“Carolina… I have the results.”
“You open them. I’m busy,” I said, feeding Matthew.

Silence. Then a long, pathetic sigh.

“It’s mine… 99.9% chance. I… Carolina, I’m so sorry. I was confused, scared…”
“Uh-huh.”
“What? That’s all you’re going to say?”
“What do you want me to say? ‘Oh, it’s fine that you accused your wife of infidelity two days after our child was born?’”

We ended things as a couple. Javier remained a responsible dad, visiting on weekends. Matthew’s eyes began to change six months later—from blue to green, then to greenish-brown. Just like mine. The irony was delicious.

Javier eventually started dating someone new. And yes… she has blue eyes. I laugh every time I think about it. Instant karma.

Matthew is now one year old, and every morning I look into his brown-green eyes and know we are a perfect team. No DNA test needed.

 If Matthew ever asks why his parents separated, I’ll tell him the truth: “Son, your dad didn’t understand that genetics is more complicated than elementary school math. And mom was too busy with diapers and bottles to teach it.”