(Ethan's POV)"Probability of paternity," Nathan read, his voice flat, careful, the voice of a man reading a sentence he did not want to be the one reading, "ninety-nine point nine nine percent."The number sat in the room like something with weight, something that had physically entered the kitchen and taken up space between us.I did not move.Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small, useless part of me was already trying to do the mathematics of my own life, counting backward through every year, every gala, every business trip, searching for the single missing hour that could explain a number that precise. I found nothing. There was nothing to find, and yet the number sat there anyway, indifferent to what I did or did not remember."That's not possible," I said, and heard how thin it sounded even as I said it, the particular thinness of a denial nobody in the room, including me, fully believed anymore."I know how this looks," Nathan said. "I want to be clear, I have real concerns
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