**Diary Entry**
My mother-in-law shrieked that my child wasnt her sonsbut the DNA test proved her own son was fathered by the neighbour.
*”Those eyesMicks arent ours. Not Christophers!”*
Margarets voice cut through the birthday party chaos like an ice pick. I froze, a slice of cake midway to my plate, my smile slipping like a poorly fitted mask. Christopher, my husband, coughed awkwardly, trying to defuse the tension.
*”Mum, come off it. Hes got my nose. And Grandads stubborn streak. Look how he frownsjust like Dad.”*
*”Nose, stubbornness”* She dragged the words out, her sharp gaze never leaving me, devoid of any festive warmth. *”But the eyesblue as the sky. Our lots all brown-eyed. Always have been.”*
She said it like she descended from the Tudors, not some sleepy Cornish village. Her husband, Victor, poked at his salad in silence, a skill hed perfected over forty years of marriage.
I forced a laugh. *”Margaret, my eyes are blue. Mustve got them from me. Genetics are a lottery.”*
Her lips thinned into a hard line. *”From you? Oh, a lot couldve come from you.”*
The air turned thick. Five-year-old Mick, oblivious, zoomed his new toy car across the rug. Christopher shot his mother a warning look. *”Mum, stop. Youre ruining his party.”*
*”Im ruining it?”* Her voice trembled with wounded pride. *”Im just protecting my only son from a terrible mistake. A lie.”*
I set my plate down. My hands shook slightly, so I tucked them under the table. *”What lie, Margaret? Spell it out.”*
Then the dam broke.
She shoved her chair back, finger jabbing at me. *”That boy isnt my sons!”*
Christopher stood abruptly. *”Mum! Have you lost it?! Apologise to Anna!”*
But she was beyond listening, eyes wild. *”Ive seen it! He looks just like our neighbour, James! Those same blue eyes! I saw you smiling at him last week by the binsthink Im blind?”*
It was madness. Absurd. James had carried my shopping bags. Wed exchanged three words. But in her twisted mind, it was proof of betrayal.
*”I want a test!”* she screeched. *”Lets all see the truth! My son wont raise some other mans bastard!”*
The word hung, ugly. I looked at Christopher. Confusion and anger warred in his eyes. He loved meI knew that. But the doubt shed planted? It was already taking root.
*”Fine,”* I said, voice eerily calm. *”Youll get your test.”*
Her smirk faltered. Shed expected tears, begging.
*”One condition,”* I continued. *”Well do two tests. One for Christopher. And the other”* I paused, relishing her shock. *”The other for Grandad Victor. Lets dig deep, since were airing dirty laundry.”*
Her face paled. *”How dare you drag my husband into this?!”*
*”You questioned my loyalty. Lets check yours too.”*
Victor, silent all evening, finally spoke. *”Do it.”*
The next week was hell. Christopher barely spoke, torn between me and his mothers poison. One night, I cracked. *”You believe her, dont you?”*
*”I dont know what to believe,”* he muttered. *”But smoke doesnt come without fire.”*
That stung worse than a slap.
Margaret switched tacticscrying to Christopher, playing the victim. *”Shes elderly, Anna,”* hed say. *”Just overprotective.”*
*”And calling our son a bastard? Thats just overprotective?”*
The day of the results arrived. Margaret wore black like she was attending a funeral. Victor was eerily calm.
I opened the first envelope. *”Probability that Christopher Victor Thompson is the biological father of Michael Christopher Thompson: 99.999%.”*
Christopher exhaled, shame flooding his face. Margaret spluttered, *”This is fake!”*
I picked up the second envelope. *”Probability that Victor James Thompson is the biological father of Christopher Victor Thompson: 0%.”*
The fork clattered from Victors hand. Margaret went white. *”Lies!”*
Christopher stared at her. *”Mum what does this mean?”*
She cracked. Screamed about Victor neglecting her, about the neighbours flirting. Victor sighed. *”I always knew, Maggie. James had blue eyes. Saw them in Chris every day. But I didnt want you shamed.”*
The fallout was brutal. I told Christopher his betrayal wasnt doubtit was choosing her over us. His parents were no longer welcome.
A year later, Mick turned six. We celebrated at a waterpark, just us three. Christopher had worked hardtherapy, setting boundaries with his mother. Small gesturesmorning coffee, standing by mewere bridges over the chasm.
Forgiveness took time. But we moved forward, our sons sky-blue eyes a symbol of lovenot someone elses sin.
**Lesson learned:** Blood doesnt define family. Trust does. And some secrets? They rot from the inside out.
