My son is not the father of your child! my mother-in-law shrieked, demanding a DNA test. She turned to stone when the results proved she wasnt her sons biological mother.
Here, Elizabeth Thompson slapped a folded pamphlet onto the table. Read this in your spare time.
The glossy page opened to reveal a smiling couple with a baby and a bold headline: “Genetic Testing Centre. Accuracy: 99.9%.”
My husband, Edward, sighed heavily and pushed away his half-finished dinner. He stared everywhere but at me or his mother.
Mum, we agreed His voice was quiet, almost pleading.
Elizabeth ignored him entirely. Her whole postureclenched lips, sharp glarewas fixed on me, like she was X-raying me for cracks in my armour.
I just want the truth, Emma. For the familys peace of mind.
Her words sounded gentle, but they carried a quiet threat.
I twisted my fingers under the table. The month since little George was born had turned into hell under the label “Mother-in-Laws Doubts.”
I remembered how, at our wedding, shed raised her glass to toast the importance of good blood and lineage. Back then, Id brushed it off as old-fashioned. Now, I knew it was her lifes creed.
First came the hints: sideways glances at the babys hair colour, questions about my wild youth. Now, shed gone on the offensive.
What truth, Elizabeth? I kept my voice steady. Heres your grandson. The spitting image of Edward.
Spitting image? She scoffed. I dont see it. My son cant be that childs father!
She said it softly, but with such icy certainty the kitchen air thickened. Edward flinched, finally tearing his eyes from the wall.
Mum! What are you saying? Stop this now!
You stay quiet! she snapped. Youve been hoodwinked, and youre happy about it! Raising some strangers brat!
I stood up. My legs barely held me, but sitting was unbearable. I felt like a defendant in a sham trial.
If youre so sure, why bother with a test? I met her gaze.
A gamble. I hoped shed back down. Instead, her lips curled into a predatory smile.
So youve got no way out, girl. So everyone sees the truth. So my son finally wakes up.
She stared at me with open contempt. To her, I wasnt a daughter-in-law or a motherjust dirt to scrub from her perfect family.
Right then, something in me shifted. The fear that had choked me gave way to something cold, sharp, and clear.
I looked at my husband. Head bowed, crushed under her authority. He hadnt defended me. Or our son.
Fine, I said, so calmly it surprised even me.
Elizabeth straightened, triumphant.
Youll get your test, I continued, circling the table to face her. All three of usme, Edward, George. But one condition.
She narrowed her eyes.
And whats that?
You take it too.
Me? She faltered. Why would I?
To prove youve any right to this family, since youre so keen on tearing it apart, I said flatly. What if youre the stranger here? Lets check. Everyone.
For a second, her mask slipped. Confusion gave way to furious red blotches crawling up her neck.
How dare you, you little upstart! she hissed, but the ice in her voice was gone. My strike had landed.
I do dare, I said evenly. Take it or leave it. You want the truth? Then we get all of it.
Edward shot me a terrified looksilently begging, *Emma, stop this.* But I couldnt.
Elizabeth fixed me with a hateful glare. She realised I wouldnt back down. Her plan to humiliate me had cracked.
Fine, she spat. Have it your way. Ill take your ridiculous test. But when those results prove you cheated, Ill personally throw your things out the door.
She turned and slammed out, rattling the china cabinet.
Edward and I were alone. He looked at me like Id betrayed him.
Why, Em? Why drag her into this? Shes my mother.
She insulted me, Edward. She insulted our son. And you sat there.
Shes just worried, he fumbled, rubbing his temples. She doesnt mean harm.
*Doesnt mean harm?* This woman had spent months chipping away at my life, my motherhood, our marriage. And he called it worry.
The next three days were torture. Elizabeth declared all-out warcalling Edward ten times a day, sobbing about how her only son could doubt his own mother. He came home drained, avoiding my eyes.
Then the reinforcements arrived: Edwards cousin Margaret phoned me.
Emma, come to your senses, she wheedled. Elizabeths blood pressures through the roof! How could you do this to her? Drop this nonsense.
I hung up. They wanted me to cave. But their pressure only hardened my resolve.
On test day, we drove in silenceElizabeth in the back like a queen, Edward white-knuckling the wheel, me cradling George in his car seat.
At the clinic, Elizabeth played the martyrloud sighs, dramatic answers. When we left, she cornered me.
Happy now? she whispered. Made a proper spectacle.
I just want it over, I said wearily.
She smirked. Oh, its just the beginning, girl. Youve no idea what Ill do when I have that envelope.
I said nothing. Just held her gaze until she looked away.
The week of waiting was eerielike the calm before a storm. Edward and I barely spoke. The wall between us grew daily.
I knew there was no going back. That envelope would be a verdictfor me, as she hoped, or for our old life.
When it arrived, Elizabeth showed up ten minutes after I calledlike shed been lurking outside.
Well? She marched in, hand outstretched. Give it here.
I didnt.
No, Elizabeth. Ill do it.
She sneered, anticipating victory. Then delivered her final blow:
You know, Emma, she said sweetly, even if that paper says what you want youll always be an outsider. A charity case.
She paused, relishing it. Edward stared at the floor.
And your brat will never be family. Blood tells.
That was it. The last straw. Something inside me *clicked*.
All the fear, the pain, the effort to be a good wifegone. Just hollow, icy clarity.
I looked at my husbandhis hunched shouldersand knew hed never choose me.
My hands didnt shake as I opened the envelope. The rustle deafened in the silence.
Inside were several sheets. I skimmed the first. Then the second. Looked up. Elizabeths smirk faltered.
Out with it, then, she snapped.
I turned to Edward.
Congratulations. Youre the father. Probability: 99.9%.
Elizabeths smirk vanished. Edward exhaledthen tensed at my expression. No joy. No relief.
Fake! she screeched. She paid them off!
I ignored her. Picked up the next sheet.
Now for the truth you wanted, Elizabeth.
I stepped closer. She stepped back.
It says: Based on DNA analysis, Elizabeth Thompson is excluded as the biological mother of Edward Thompson. Probability: zero percent.
Dead silence.
Elizabeths face turned waxen. Lips moving soundlessly. She turned to Edward.
And my husbandhe stared at the paper, then at the woman hed called *Mum*his eyes hollow with horror. His world had shattered in a second.
The first sound was Edwarda choked gasp. He grabbed the paper. I let him.
This cant be, Elizabeth whispered.
Get out, I said softly.
What?
Get out of my house.
Edward! she wailed. Tell her! Im your mother! I raised you!
But Edward wasnt listening. He just kept rereading that line. Then looked at herempty.
Who am I? he asked, so quiet I barely heard.
That broke her. She crumpled to the floor, silent sobs shaking her shoulders. The act was over.
The next day, we called Edwards father, Richard. He came straight over. I laid it outjust the factsand handed him the results.
He stared at Elizabeth, curled in the armchair. No anger. Just cold, exhausted emptiness.
So its true, he said finally. I always felt something was off.
What followed was swift. Richard insisted on his own test.
