“My son is not the father of your child!” shrieked my mother-in-law, demanding a DNA test. She turned to stone when the results proved she was not, in fact, the mother of her own son.
“Here,” Edith Thornton said, slapping a folded brochure onto the table. “Read this in your spare time.”
The glossy page unfolded to reveal a smiling couple with a baby and a bold headline: “Centre for Genetic Testing. Accuracy: 99.9%.”
My husband, Edmund, sighed heavily and pushed away his half-eaten dinner. His eyes darted everywhereexcept at me or his mother.
“Mother, we agreed,” he said quietly, almost pleading.
Edith ignored him entirely. Her entire posturelips pressed thin, sharp gazewas fixed on me, as if she could see right through me, searching for cracks in my defences.
“I just want the truth, Catherine. For the sake of the family.”
Her words were gentle, but there was a threat beneath them.
I clasped my hands under the table. The month since little Henry’s birth had become a nightmare under the shadow of my mother-in-laws suspicions.
I remembered our wedding day, when she had raised her glass in a toast about “the importance of good blood and breeding.” At the time, I dismissed it as an old-fashioned quirk. Now, I understoodit was her creed.
First came the hints, the sideways glances at the babys hair colour, the pointed questions about my “wild youth.” Now, she had moved to open attack.
“What truth, Edith?” I kept my voice steady. “Here he isyour grandson. The very image of Edmund.”
“The image?” She scoffed. “I dont see it. My son cannot be the father of your child!”
She said it softly, but with such icy certainty that the air in the kitchen thickened. Edmund flinched, finally tearing his gaze from the wall.
“Mother! What are you saying? Stop this at once!”
“You keep quiet!” she snapped. “Shes made a fool of you, and youre happy to play along. Raising another mans bastard!”
I stood. My legs trembled, but I could no longer sit there, on trial in a courtroom of her making.
“If youre so certain why bother with the test?” I met her gaze squarely.
It was a risk. I hoped she would back down. Instead, her lips curled into a predators smile.
“So you have no way out, girl. So everyone can see what you really are. So my son finally wakes up.”
She looked at me with open contempt. To her, I was not a daughter-in-law, not the mother of her grandchildjust dirt to be scrubbed from her “perfect” family.
Something in me shifted then. 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 under his mothers authority. He had not defended me. He had not defended our son.
“Fine,” I said, so calmly it surprised even me.
Edith straightened, triumphant.
“Youll have your test,” I continued, circling the table to stand before her. “All three of usEdmund, Henry, and I. But on one condition.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“And whats that?”
“You take it too.”
“Me?” She faltered. “Why would I?”
“To prove you have any right to this family, since youre so determined to tear it apart,” I said flatly. “Whos to say you arent the stranger here? Lets find out. All of us.”
For a moment, her mask slipped. Bewilderment gave way to furious blotches crawling up her neck.
“How dare you, you little upstart!” she hissed, but her icy confidence was gone. My strike had landed.
“I do dare,” I replied evenly. “Take it or leave it. You want the truth? Then lets have all of it.”
Edmund looked up at me, panic in his eyes. A silent plea: *Catherine, stop, dont do this.* But I was past stopping.
Edith stared at me, hatred burning in her gaze. She realised I would not back down. Her plan to humiliate me had cracked.
“Fine,” she spat. “Have it your way. Ill take your ridiculous test. But when that envelope is opened and everyone sees youve borne another mans childIll personally throw your things into the street.”
She turned on her heel and slammed the door so hard the china rattled.
Edmund and I were alone. He watched me as if I had betrayed him.
“Why, Catherine? Why drag her into this? Shes my mother.”
“She insulted me, Edmund. She insulted our son. And you sat there and said nothing.”
“Shes just worried,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “She doesnt mean harm.”
*Not mean harm?* The woman had spent months dismantling my life, my motherhood, our marriage. And he called it worry.
The next three days were torture. Edith launched a full-scale war.
She called Edmund ten times a day, sobbing about how her only son could side with “that hussy” and doubt his own mother. He came home from work grey-faced, avoiding my eyes.
Then came the reinforcementsEdmunds cousin, Margaret. She rang me.
“Catherine, be reasonable,” she urged. “Edith nearly ended up in hospital with her blood pressure. How can you treat a mother like this? Shes done everything for you. Spare her this nonsense.”
I listened in silence before hanging up. They wanted me to feel guilty. To surrender. But their pressure only hardened my resolve.
On the day of the test, we rode in the same car. Edith sat in the back like a queen, silent, staring out the window. Edmund gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened. I held Henrys carrier in my lap, his peaceful breathing a small comfort.
In the sterile clinic, Edith played the martyrsighing dramatically, rolling her eyes, answering the nurses questions with tragic flair.
When it was over, she stopped me in the corridor. Edmund had stepped away to pay.
“Well? Happy now?” she hissed. “Made a spectacle of yourself.”
“I just want this over,” I said wearily.
She smirked. “Oh, this is only the beginning, girl. The beginning of your end. Youve no idea what Ill do to you when that envelope is in my hands.”
I said nothing. Just looked at her. And for the first time, she glanced away.
The week of waiting was the calm before the storm. Edmund and I barely spoke. He lived in his world; I in mine with Henry. The wall between us grew daily.
I knew there was no going back. That envelope would be a verdicteither for me, as Edith hoped, or for the life wed known.
When the courier delivered the thick envelope, Edith appeared at our door within minutes, as if shed been lurking outside. She swept in uninvited, the judge ready to pronounce sentence. Edmund, pale as parchment, emerged from the bedroom.
“Well? Has your truth arrived?” Edith reached for the envelope in my hands. “Give it here. Ill do it.”
I didnt let go.
“No, Edith. I will.”
She sneered but stepped back, savouring her impending triumph. She was certain of victory. And in that moment, she delivered her final blow.
“You know, Catherine,” she said sweetly, poison in her voice, “even if that envelope says what you want nothing changes for me. Youll always be an outsider in this family. A nobody.”
She paused, relishing the effect. Edmund looked at the floor.
“And a child like yours will never truly be one of us. No matter how many tests you take. The breeding isnt there.”
That was it. The last straw. Something inside me clicked, final and irrevocable.
All the fear, the pain, the effort to be the perfect wife and daughter-in-law dissolved. Only emptiness remainedcold and crystal clear.
I looked at my husband. At his hunched shoulders. And I knew he would never change. He would always choose his mother.
My hands no longer shook. I carefully opened the envelope. The rustle of paper was deafening.
Inside were several sheets. My eyes skimmed the first. Then the second. I looked up at them. Ediths triumphant smile faltered.
“Well? Dont keep us waiting, *actress*,” she snapped.
I turned to Edmund.
“Congratulations. Youre the father. Probability: 99.9%.”
Ediths smile vanished. Edmund exhaled in reliefthen tensed at my expression. There was no joy in it. No relief.
“A forgery!” Edith shrieked. “She paid for this! I knew it!”
I ignored her. Took the second page.
“And now the real reason you did this, Edith. Your truth.”
I stepped toward her. She recoiled.
“It says” I let the words hang. “*Based on DNA analysis, Edith Thornton is excluded as the biological mother of Edmund Thornton.*
