The air in the room was thick as treacle, heavy with unsaid words. I cradled our little boy, Oliver, on the cream sofa while my husband, James, and his parents hurled accusations like stones across a frozen pond.
It started with a glance. The first time my mother-in-law, Margaret, saw Oliver in hospital, her lips pursed. Leaning toward James as if I couldnt hear, she murmured, He doesnt have the Whitmore look. I feigned sleep, but the words stung sharper than the stitches from my caesarean.
At first, James shrugged it off. We joked about how newborns change, how Oliver had my cheekbones and Jamess brow. But doubt had been sown, and Margaret watered it daily with little jabs.
James had the fairest hair as a baby, shed say, holding Oliver up to the window. Strange how dark his is, dont you think?
One evening, when Oliver was four months old, James returned late from the office. I was slumped on the sofa, nursing the baby, my hair unwashed, exhaustion pressing down like a sodden blanket. He didnt greet mejust stood there, arms folded.
We need to talk, he said.
I already knew.
Mum and Dad think we ought to do a DNA test. Just to be sure.
To be sure? My voice cracked. You think Ive been unfaithful?
James shifted. No, Sophie. Not at all. But theyre uneasy. I just want this settledfor everyone.
My stomach dropped. For everyone. Not for me. Not for Oliver. For them.
Fine, I said after a long silence, swallowing tears. You want the test? Youll get it. But I want something in return.
James frowned. Like what?
If I agree to this insult, then you promisehere, now, in front of your parentsthat if the results prove what I already know, anyone who still doubts me is cut off. For good.
James hesitated. Behind him, Margaret stiffened, arms crossed, eyes like flint.
And if I refuse?
I met his gaze, Olivers warm weight against my chest. Then you can all walk out that door. Dont come back.
The silence was suffocating. Margaret opened her mouth, but James silenced her with a look. He knew I wasnt bluffing. He knew Oliver was hishis double, if only hed see past his mothers poison.
Fine, James said at last, raking a hand through his hair. Well do it. And if it proves what you say, thats it. No more questions.
Margarets face soured. This is absurd, she hissed. If theres nothing to hide
Oh, Ive nothing to hide, I shot back. But you doyour spite, your constant meddling. It ends when the results come. Or youll never see your son or grandson again.
James flinched but didnt argue.
Two days later, the test was done. A nurse swabbed Olivers tiny mouth as he fussed in my arms. James did his, jaw tight. That night, I held Oliver close, rocking him, murmuring apologies he couldnt understand.
I barely slept. James dozed on the sofa. I couldnt bear him in our bed while he doubted meand our child.
When the results arrived, James read them first. He sank to his knees, the paper trembling. Sophie Im so sorry. I never shouldve
Dont apologise to me, I said coldly, lifting Oliver from his cot. Apologise to your son. And to yourself. Because youve lost something you cant get back.
But the fight wasnt over. The test was just the start.
James knelt there, clutching the proof of what he shouldve known all along. His eyes were red, but I felt nothingno warmth, no pity. Just a hollow where trust had been.
Behind him, Margaret and my father-in-law, Henry, stood frozen. Margarets lips were pressed so tight theyd vanished. She didnt dare meet my eyes. Good.
You promised, I said softly, bouncing Oliver, who giggled, oblivious. You said if the test cleared things, youd cut out anyone who still doubted me.
James swallowed. Sophie, please. Shes my mother. She was only concerned
Concerned? I laughed, making Oliver blink. I kissed his downy head. She poisoned you against your own wife and son. Called me a liarall because she cant bear not controlling your life.
Margaret stepped forward, voice trembling. Sophie, dont exaggerate. We did what any family would. We needed certainty
No, I cut in. Good families trust each other. Good husbands dont make their wives prove their children are theirs. You wanted proof? Youve got it. Now youll get something else.
James stared. Sophie, what do you mean?
I took a breath, feeling Olivers heartbeat against mine. I want you all gone. Now.
Margaret gasped. Henry spluttered. Jamess face paled. What? Sophie, you cantthis is our home
No, I said firmly. This is Olivers home. Mine and his. And you three shattered it. You humiliated me. You will not raise my son where his mothers called a liar.
James stood, anger replacing guilt. Sophie, be reasonable
I was reasonable, I snapped. When I agreed to that vile test. When I bit my tongue as your mother nitpicked my cooking, my clothes, my family. I was reasonable letting her into our lives at all.
I stood, holding Oliver tighter. But Im done being reasonable. Stay if you want. But your parents leave. Today. Or you all go.
Margarets voice rose shrilly. James! Youre allowing this? Your own mother
James looked at me, then Oliver, then the floor. For the first time in years, he seemed like a lost boy in his own house. He turned to Margaret and Henry. Mum. Dad. Perhaps you should go.
The silence shattered Margarets composure. Her face twisted. Henry placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off.
This is your wifes doing, she spat at James. Dont expect forgiveness.
She turned to me, eyes like ice. Youll regret this. You think youve won, but youll regret it when he comes crawling back.
I smiled. Goodbye, Margaret.
Minutes later, Henry gathered their coats, muttering apologies James couldnt answer. Margaret left without a backward glance. When the door closed, the house felt larger, emptierbut lighter.
James sat on the sofas edge, staring at his hands. He looked up, voice barely a whisper. Sophie Im sorry. I shouldve defended youdefended us.
I nodded. Yes. You shouldve.
He reached for my hand. I let him take itjust for a momentthen pulled away. James, I dont know if I can forgive you. This broke something.
Tears filled his eyes. Tell me what to do. Ill do anything.
I looked down at Oliver, who yawned, his tiny fingers clutching my jumper. Start by earning it back. Be the father he deserves. Be the husband I deserveif you want that chance. And if you ever let them near us again without my say, youll lose us. Understand?
James nodded, shoulders slumped. I understand.
In the weeks that followed, things shifted. James came home early, took Oliver for walks so I could rest, made dinner. He looked at our son like he was seeing him anewbecause perhaps he was.
Trust isnt rebuilt in a day. Some nights I lie awake, wondering if Ill ever see James the same way. But every morning, when I watch him feeding Oliver toast soldiers, making him laugh, I think perhapsjust perhapswell be alright.
Were not perfect. But were ours. And thats enough.
