**”My son is not the father of your child!”** screamed the mother-in-law, demanding a DNA test. She froze in horror when the results revealed she was not the mother of her own son.
*”Here,”* Margaret Thompson tossed a folded advertisement onto the table. *”Read it in your spare time.”*
The glossy page unfurled, revealing a smiling couple with a baby and a bold headline: *”Genetics Testing Centre. 99.9% Accuracy.”*
My husband, Edward, sighed heavily and pushed away his half-eaten dinner. He looked everywhere but at me or his mother.
*”Mum, we agreed…”* His voice was quiet, almost pleading.
Margaret ignored him entirely. Her entire posturetight lips, sharp gazewas directed at me. She seemed to peer right through me, searching for cracks in my defense.
*”I just want the truth, Emily. For the sake of the family.”*
Her words were soft, but they carried a threat.
My fingers twisted together under the table. The past month since little James was born had been pure hell under the banner of *”mother-in-laws doubts.”*
I remembered how, at our wedding, she had raised her glass and toasted *”the importance of good breeding and pure blood.”* Back then, I dismissed it as old-fashioned nonsense. Now, I realizedit was her lifes creed.
First came the hintssideways glances at the babys hair color, questions about my *”wild youth.”* Now, she had launched a full assault.
*”What truth, Margaret?”* I kept my voice steady. *”Here he isyour grandson. The spitting image of Edward.”*
*”Spitting image?”* She smirked. *”I dont see it. My son cannot be the father of your child!”*
She said it quietly, but with such icy certainty the air in the kitchen thickened. Edward flinched, finally tearing his eyes from the wall.
*”Mum! What the hell are you saying? Stop this now!”*
*”You stay out of it!”* she snapped. *”Youve been led around by the nose, happy to raise another mans bastard!”*
I stood up. My legs barely held me, but sitting was unbearable. I felt like a defendant in a rigged trial.
*”If youre so sure why bother with a test?”* I asked, staring straight into her eyes.
It was a gamble. I hoped shed back down. Instead, her lips curled into a predatory smile.
*”So you have no chance to wriggle out. So everyone sees what you really are. So my son finally wakes up.”*
She looked at me with pure contempt. To her, I wasnt a daughter-in-law, not the mother of her grandchildjust filth to be scrubbed from their *”perfect”* family.
And in that moment, something inside me shifted. The fear that had gripped me gave way to something cold, sharp, and clear.
I glanced at my husband. He sat with his head bowed, crushed beneath his mothers authority. He hadnt defended me. He hadnt defended our son.
*”Fine,”* I said, so calmly it surprised even me.
Margaret straightened triumphantly.
*”Youll get your test,”* I continued, circling the table to stand directly before her. *”Well do it. Me, Edward, James. But on one condition.”*
She narrowed her eyes. *”And whats that?”*
*”You take one too.”*
*”Me?”* Her confidence faltered. *”Why would I?”*
*”To prove you have any claim on this family, since youre so eager to destroy it,”* I shot back. *”What if youre not even his real mother? Lets check. All of us.”*
For a second, her mask slipped. Confusion gave way to furious red blotches creeping up her neck.
*”How dare you, you little upstart!”* she hissed, but the ice in her voice was gone. My strike had landed.
*”I dare,”* I replied evenly. *”Take it or leave it. You want the truth? Then lets have all of it.”*
Edward looked up at me, terrified. His silent plea was clear: *”Emily, stop, dont do this.”* But it was too late.
Margaret glared at me, hatred burning in her eyes. She knew I wouldnt back down. Her plan to humiliate me had cracked.
*”Fine,”* she spat. *”Have it your way. Ill take your stupid test. But when the results come back and everyone sees that boy isnt hisIll personally throw your things out the door.”*
She turned, slamming the door so hard the dishes rattled.
Edward and I were left alone. He stared at me as if I had betrayed him.
*”Why, Em?* Why drag her into this? Shes my mother.”*
*”She insulted me, Edward. She insulted our son. And you just sat there.”*
*”Shes just worried,”* he stammered, rubbing his temples. *”She doesnt mean harm.”*
*”Doesnt mean harm?”* The words screamed in my head. This woman had spent months tearing apart my life, my motherhood, our family. And he called it *”worry.”*
The next three days were torture. Margaret waged warcalling Edward ten times a day, sobbing about how he could betray his own mother for *”that scheming girl.”*
He came home exhausted, avoiding my eyes.
Then the *”heavy artillery”* arrivedEdwards cousin, Beatrice. She rang me.
*”Emily, come to your senses,”* she pleaded. *”Margarets blood pressures through the roof. How can you treat a mother this way? Shes done everything for you. Drop this nonsense.”*
I hung up without a word. They wanted me to feel guilty. To surrender. But their pressure only hardened my resolve.
On the day of the test, we rode in silence. Margaret sat in the back like a queen, staring out the window. Edward gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. I held James, asleep in his carrier.
In the sterile clinic, Margaret played the martyrsighing dramatically, rolling her eyes at the nurses questions.
When it was over, she cornered me in the hallway as Edward went to pay.
*”Happy now?”* she hissed. *”Made a proper spectacle.”*
*”I just want this over with,”* I said wearily.
She smirked. *”Oh, its only just begun, girl. The beginning of your end. Youve no idea what Ill do when those results are in my hands.”*
I said nothing. Just looked at her. And for the first time, she looked away.
The week of waiting was an eerie calm before the storm. Edward and I barely spoke. He lived his life; I lived mine with James. A wall grew between us daily.
I knew there was no going back. That envelope would be a verdicteither for me, as Margaret dreamed, or for our entire past life.
When the courier delivered the thick envelope, Margaret appeared on our doorstep ten minutes lateras if shed been waiting outside.
She marched in uninvited, face set like a judge ready to pass sentence. Edward, pale as a ghost, emerged from the bedroom.
*”Well? Got your truth?”* She reached for the envelope. *”Give it here. Ill do it.”*
I didnt hand it over.
*”No, Margaret. I will.”*
She sneered but stepped back, sensing victory. She was certain of her triumph. Now, she delivered the final blow.
*”You know, Emily,”* she said sweetly, poison dripping from every word, *”even if that envelope says what you want youll always be an outsider. A charity case from nowhere.”*
She paused, savoring the effect. Edward looked at the floor.
*”And a child from someone like you will never be family. Not a hundred tests will change that. Blood tells.”*
That was it. The last straw. Something inside me clickedfinal and irrevocable.
All the fear, the pain, the desperate attempts to be the perfect daughter-in-law dissolved. Only emptiness remainedcold, clear, and crystalline.
I looked at my husband. His hunched figure. And I knewhe would never change. He would always choose her.
My hands didnt shake as I opened the envelope. The rustle of paper was deafening.
Inside were several pages. I scanned the first. Then the second. I looked up at them. Margarets smirk widened.
*”Well? Out with it, actress,”* she sneered.
I turned to Edward.
*”Congratulations. Youre the father. Probability99.9%.”*
The smirk slid off Margarets face. Edward exhaled in reliefthen tensed at my expression. There was no joy in it. No relief.
*”A fake!”* she sh
