*Personal Diary Entry*
My son is not the father of your child! My mother-in-laws shriek echoed through the kitchen as she demanded a DNA test. The blood drained from her face when the results came backshe wasnt his mother at all.
Here, Margaret Thompson slapped a glossy brochure onto the table, folded neatly in quarters. Read it in your *spare time*.
The page unfolded, revealing a smiling couple cradling a baby beneath a bold headline: *”Genetics Centre. Accuracy: 99.9%.”*
My husband, Edward, exhaled sharply and pushed his half-eaten dinner away. His eyes darted anywhere but at me or his mother. Mum, we agreed His voice was quiet, almost pleading.
Margaret ignored him entirely. Her entire posturethe tight lips, the piercing glarewas trained on me, as if she could see through me, hunting for cracks in my composure.
I just want the truth, Catherine. For the familys peace of mind.
Her tone was calm, but the threat hummed beneath it.
My fingers twisted together under the table. The past month since little Olivers birth had been hell under the shadow of *mother-in-laws suspicions.*
I remembered how, at our wedding, shed raised her glass with a toast to *good breeding and family legacy.* Back then, I dismissed it as outdated nonsense. Now, I understoodit was her creed.
First came the hintssideways glances at Olivers hair colour, veiled questions about my *wild youth.* Now, shed launched a full assault.
What truth, Margaret? I kept my voice steady. Here he is. Your grandson. Edwards double.
Double? She scoffed. I dont see it. My son *cannot* be that childs father.
She said it softly, but with such icy conviction the air thickened. Edward flinched, finally tearing his gaze from the wall.
Mum! What the hell are you saying? Stop this.
*You* stay quiet! she snapped. Youve been made a fool of, and youre happy about it. Raising another mans mistake!
I stood. My legs trembled, but sitting was unbearable. I felt like a defendant in a rigged trial.
If youre so certain why bother with the test? I met her stare.
A gamble. I hoped shed back down. Instead, her lips curled into a predators grin.
So you have *no escape,* girl. So everyone sees what you are. So my son *finally* wakes up.
Her disdain was naked. To her, I wasnt her daughter-in-law or the mother of her grandchildjust filth to be scrubbed from her *perfect* family.
Something inside me shifted. The fear that had choked me dissolved into something cold, sharp, and clear.
I looked at Edward. He sat slumped, crushed under her authority. He hadnt defended me. Hadnt defended our son.
Fine, I said, startling myself with my calm.
Margaret straightened, triumphant.
Youll have your test, I continued, circling the table until I stood before her. All of usEdward, Oliver, and me. But on one condition.
Her eyes narrowed. Which is?
You take it too.
*Me?* She balked. Why?
To prove youre even *related* to this family, since youre so eager to destroy it, I said flatly. For all we know, *youre* the stranger. Lets check. Everyone.
For a second, her mask slipped. Confusion flared, then fury stained her neck crimson.
How *dare* you, you little Her voice lacked its usual steel. My strike had landed.
I dare. I held her gaze. Either this way, or not at all. You want the truth? Then we get *all* of it.
Edwards panicked eyes pleaded: *Cath, stop.* But I couldnt.
Margaret stared at me with molten hatred. She understoodher plan to humiliate me had cracked.
Fine, she spat. Ill take your ridiculous test. But when that envelope opens and everyone sees you had that child with *someone else* Ill personally throw your things into the street.
She stormed out, slamming the door so hard the china rattled.
Edward and I were alone. He looked at me like *Id* betrayed *him.*
Why, Cath? Why drag her into this? Shes my *mother.*
She insulted me. Insulted our son. And you *sat there.*
Shes just worried, he mumbled, rubbing his temples. She doesnt mean harm.
*Doesnt mean harm?* This woman had spent months eroding 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 hed *betrayed* her for *that scheming girl.* He returned from work hollow-eyed, avoiding my gaze.
Then came her reinforcementsEdwards cousin, Beatrice, rang me.
Cathy, be reasonable, she wheedled. Margarets blood pressures through the roof! How can you treat family this way? Have a heart.
I hung up. Their guilt-trip had the opposite effect.
On test day, we drove in silence. Margaret sat stiffly in the back like a queen. Edwards knuckles whitened on the wheel. I held Olivers carrier, watching his peaceful sleep.
At the clinic, Margaret played the martyrsighing dramatically, rolling her eyes at the nurses questions.
As we left, she cornered me. Edward had stepped away to pay.
Happy now? she hissed. Made your little scene?
I just want this over, I said wearily.
Her smile was venomous. Oh, this is just the *beginning,* girl. The beginning of your *end.*
I said nothing. Just looked at her. And for the first time, *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 Margaret hoped, or for the life wed known.
When the courier arrived, Margaret appeared at our door within minutesas if shed been lurking outside.
She marched in uninvited, a judge ready to deliver sentencing. Edward, pale as parchment, emerged from the bedroom.
Well? Got your *truth*? She reached for the envelope in my hands. Give it here. *Ill* do it.
I didnt relent.
No, Margaret. I will.
She scoffed, already tasting victory. Then, she struck her final blow.
You know, Catherine, she murmured, poisonously sweet, even if that envelope says what you *want* Youll always be an outsider. A *nobody* who latched onto our family.
She paused, relishing the sting. Edward studied his shoes.
And a child from someone like you? *Never* one of us. Blood tells.
That was it. The last thread snapped. Fear and pain dissolved into hollow, crystalline clarity.
I looked at my husbandhis hunched shoulders, his silenceand knew hed *always* choose her.
I opened the envelope. The rustle of paper was deafening.
Two sheets. I skimmed the first. Then the second. When I looked up, Margarets smirk widened.
Well? Dont *dramatise*, she sneered.
I turned to Edward.
Congratulations. Youre the father. Probability: 99.9%.
Margarets smile faltered. Edward exhaledthen tensed at my expression. No relief. No joy.
*Lies!* she shrieked. She *paid* for this! I *knew* it!
I ignored her. Lifted the second page.
Now for *your* truth, Margaret. The one you started all this for.
I stepped toward her. She recoiled.
It says Based on DNA analysis, Margaret Thompson is excluded as the biological mother of Edward Thompson. Probability: *zero* percent.
Silence. Thick, suffocating.
Margarets face whitened to wax. Lips moved soundlessly. She turned to Edward.
And my husbandhe stared at the paper, then at the woman hed called *Mother,* his eyes hollow with horror. His world had crumbled in a second.
Edward made a choked sound. He grabbed the paper, hands shaking.
This cant be, Margaret whispered, voice shattered. Youyou *witch!*
She lunged, but I didnt flinch. Just held her gaze. And she *stopped.*
Her rage, her powergone. She collapsed into the chair, trembling, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Edward stood frozen, the paper fluttering from his grasp, his entire life unraveling in silence. I picked up Oliver, cradling him close, and walked to the door. Were leaving, I said, my voice steady. You can have your perfect family. We dont belong to it. Neither of them stopped me. Outside, the air was cold and clean. I buckled Oliver into his car seat, kissed his tiny forehead, and whispered, Were free. Then I drove away, not knowing where wed go, only that it would be without shadows.
