I still remember that cold afternoon when my husband, George, thrust a sealed envelope through the door and said, Ive had a DNA test. This isnt my daughter. The words hit me like a stone. Mrs. Whitaker, have you lost your mind? This is the third time youve brought this up this month! I snapped back, my temper flaring. Mrs. Clarke, I explained myselfmy granddaughter is ill! I have nowhere to leave her!
In the back room of the chemist, Susan pretended to sort medicine boxes while the shop manager, Helen, berated her colleague, Martha, for yet another unscheduled absence. Martha, eyes brimming with tears, pleaded, Give me one more chance! I wont do it again! Helens lips tightened. Thats why its your last. One more slipup and youre outno discussion. Martha nodded and hurried back to the counter. Susan exhaled. Working in a pharmacy was a grindconstant turnover, irritable customers, a strict foremanbut there was no alternative; the rent had to be paid.
When night fell, Susan returned to a quiet flat. George hadnt arrived from his job at the trading firm, and their daughter, Emily, was staying over at a friends for a study session. Susan changed into something comfortable, set the kettle on, and sank onto the sofa. At fortytwo, she felt older than her years: fatigue, headaches, sleeplessness. Doctors called it stress and handed out vitamins, but the weariness lingered.
A chirp from her phone announced a message: Emily would be at Lenas for dinner and back by nine. Susan replied curtly, Alright, be back in time. Emily, fifteen, with dark hair and hazel eyes, bore a striking resemblance to George, and George often boasted that the girl took after her father, not her mother. Susan, with her fair hair and grey eyes, felt the contrast keenly.
The front door opened and George dropped his briefcase, trudging to the kitchen without a greeting. Morning, Susan said. How was the day? He shrugged, poured water, and gulped it down. His usual cheerful banter was missing; instead, a shadow hung over him. Everything alright? she asked. He muttered, Fine, and slipped away to the bedroom.
Susans brows knit. Something was amissperhaps a work dispute? Georges role as a manager meant pressure was inevitable. She followed him, finding him staring at a wall. George, whats happening? You seem distant. He lifted his gaze, a coldness shed never seen before. We need to talk. About what? About Emily. Susan sat beside him. Whats wrong with her? Shes fine. Its me that isnt. The words left her baffled.
George rose, rummaged through the wardrobe, and pulled out an envelope. Read this. The envelope bore the seal of a laboratory. Inside lay a sheet of numbers and tables. Susan glanced at the figures, bewildered. Whats this? George crossed his arms. A DNA test. I had it done a month ago. A chill ran down Susans spine. Why a DNA test? For what? To confirm paternity. I wanted to be sure Emily was my child. Susans heart seized. Youre insane! Of course shes yours! Georges voice was flat. No, she isnt. Look at the bottompaternity excluded. He pointed. The statement read: Probability of paternity: zero percent. Susan whispered, It must be a mistake. Georges tone hardened. Then tell me why the test says otherwise. He accused, Youve been unfaithful. Emily isnt mine. Susan sank onto the bed, her legs trembling. Ive nevernever cheated! George demanded an explanation. Maybe the lab mixed up samples? he suggested. Susan clutched his hand, pleading, I swear I never strayed. Emily is your daughter, Im certain. He jerked his hand away. So youll keep lying to my face? Susan sobbed, Im not lying! He stood, grabbed his coat, and announced, Ill be away for a few days, staying with my mother. You cant just leave! she shouted. Sort it out yourself. Im tired of the lies. He left, slamming the door. Susan sat, envelope in hand, the words replaying in her mind. She remembered every moment of Emilys birth, every kiss, every promise. How could it all be false?
Emily returned at nine, bright-eyed and chatty. Mum, guess what? Lenas got a brilliant idea for the biology project! Susan wiped her tears and forced a smile. Thats lovely, love. Are you crying, Mum? Emily asked, noticing her mothers pallor. Just tired. Go have dinner. Wheres Papa? Hes with Grandma; shes got her own affairs. Emily shrugged and went to the kitchen. Susan lingered, thoughts spiralling.
She called her old school friend, Vicky. After a few rings, Vicky answered, Hey, Sue! Whats up? Vick, Im in trouble. Can I come over? Vicky said, Of course, come straight away. Whats happened? Susan gave a vague reply, Cant talk on the phone. Ill be there soon. Susan told Emily to stay put and headed to Vickys modest twobed flat in the next borough. Theyd been inseparable since grammar school, confidants in everything.
Vicky met her with a worried look. Sue, sit down, tell me everything. Susan unfolded the DNA saga, Georges accusations, his sudden departure. He actually ordered a DNA test? Why? Vicky asked. I dont know. Maybe he doubted us. But everything was fine, wasnt it? Susan replied, tears welling. It cant be truezero percent. Ive never been unfaithful. Vicky thought a moment. Maybe its an error. Labs arent infallible. George says the labs topnotch, never makes mistakes. Even the best can slip up, Vicky said. You should get a second test at another lab. The suggestion sparked a flicker of hope. Susan rushed home, scouring the internet for reputable genetic centres, finally booking an appointment at a clinic with sterling reviews.
George remained silent. Susan sent him several messages; he never replied. Emily asked about her father, and Susan answered, Grandmas busy, Dad will be back soon. On Saturday, Susan and Emily drove to the clinic. Emily wondered why they needed a test; Susan said it was just a health check. The nurse took a cheek swab; the results would arrive in a week.
The week dragged. Susans work suffered; Helen scolded her for errors in the inventory. Mrs. Whitaker, youre making mistakes! Helen snapped. Susan apologized weakly, mind elsewhere. She imagined the two test results, both showing zero percent. On the fifth day, George called. Hey. How are you both? Susan answered tersely, Fine. Emily asks about you. Tell her Ill be back soon. I need to think. Susan mentioned the repeat test. Why? George asked. To be certain. Im sure the first was wrong. He sighed, Alright, Ill come.
When the second report arrived, Susans hands shook as she opened the email. The same line stared back: Probability of paternity: zero percent. She read it over and over; the numbers matched the first test. How could two independent labs reach the same conclusion? That night George arrived. She showed him the fresh report; he nodded. See? Same result. Susans voice trembled. Ive never cheated! George replied, coldly, The facts speak for themselves. He pressed, When was Emily conceived? Who else could have been involved? Susan recounted the autumn of their courtship, the brief period before they were married. George asked, Anyone else? She swore none. He frowned. Then Im at a loss.
Suddenly, a thought surfaced. George, are you really my husband? he stared, baffled. What are you on about? What if the hospital mixed up babies at birth? Could they have swapped our child? George scoffed, Thats absurd. We took her home from the ward fifteen years ago. Susan pressed, But could it have happened in those first days? He shook his head. Youre inventing madness.
Emily burst into the room, Dad, youre home! George embraced her, his face softening. Hey, love. Hows school? Emily beamed. All good, Dad. Will you stay? George smiled, Im not going anywhere. Susan watched them, feeling a pang of relief mixed with confusion. The love in Georges eyes for Emily seemed genuine, despite the DNA.
Susan proposed, Lets see a geneticist, someone who can interpret these results. George grudgingly agreed, Fine, but this is the last time. She found a renowned specialist, a middleaged man with a silver beard, and presented both reports. After a careful glance, he spoke, There is a rare condition called chimerism. It occurs when a person carries two distinct sets of DNA, often because one embryo absorbed its twin in the womb. If a sample is taken from tissue containing the other set, a paternity test could show a negative result even though the father is biologically the childs dad. Susan felt the world tilt. So George could be a chimera? the doctor asked. Its possible, though extremely uncommon. To confirm, wed need samples from multiple body sitesblood, saliva, hair, skin.
Susan left the clinic buoyed by a plausible explanation. She called George, Chimerismcould it explain the test? He was skeptical, Ive never heard of that. She urged him to provide varied samples. Reluctantly, he agreed. Blood, cheek swab, a few hairs, and a skin scrape were taken. The doctor promised results in two weeks.
Those two weeks were the longest of Susans life. Sleep eluded her, food lost its taste, and at work Helens reprimands grew sharper: Mrs. Whitaker, youre making mistakes again! Susan could only stare at the ceiling, her mind looping the question: what if there truly was no chimerism?
When the day came, Susan and George returned to the clinic. The doctors expression was unreadable. Your husbands samples all share the same DNA. No evidence of chimerism. Susans heart sank. So the DNA truly says he isnt the father. The doctor added, The most straightforward conclusion is that he is not the biological father. George rose, a grim smile forming. I told you. He left, the wind whipping the autumn leaves outside.
On the doorstep, George stopped. Susan, Ive thought this through. I love Emily, and Ive raised her as my own. That matters more than any strand of DNA. Susans eyes filled with tears. Thank you, she whispered. But we must never tell Emily the truth. He nodded, Agreed. Lets start anew, without looking back. They embraced, the tension finally easing.
Time healed the rift. Life returned to its familiar rhythm: Emily at school, George at the trading firm, Susan still tending the chemists shelves. The DNA episode faded into a distant memory, spoken only in hushed whispers. Occasionally, Susan wondered about the anonymous donorwho he was, what his life had been like. Yet she pushed those thoughts aside; they mattered little compared to the warmth of a home where love, not genetics, bound them.
One day Emily burst in, Mum, Dad, the school is offering a genealogy test! Everyones doing it to learn their roots. Susan exchanged a glance with George. Do you want to? George asked. It could be interesting, Emily replied, Lenas found out she has Scandinavian ancestry! Susan hesitated, Those tests arent always reliable. Why not? Emily pressed. George sighed, We already know enough about ourselves. Emily shrugged and went off to her room. Susan felt gratitude for Georges steadiness; he had refused to let any further suspicion crack their family.
Now, looking back, Susan sees the truth she learned: family is forged not by shared blood but by shared care, laughter, and perseverance. Their bond survived tests, accusations, and the fear of unknown origins. In the end, love proved the stronger DNA.
