Long ago, in the quiet countryside of Yorkshire, I never imagined the man I cherishedthe father of my childwould gaze upon me with such doubt about our son. Yet there I sat, clutching our infant boy on our worn settee while my husband and his parents hurled accusations like arrows.
It started with a glance. When my mother-in-law, Margaret, first beheld little Thomas at the hospital, her lips pursed. Whispering to my husband, William, while I feigned sleep, she muttered, «He doesnt bear the Whitmore look.» I pretended not to hear, but her words stung deeper than the stitches from my birthing.
At first, William brushed it aside. We jested about how babes change, how Thomas had my cheekbones and his fathers brow. But that seed of suspicion took root, watered by Margarets relentless whispers.
«William had the fairest eyes as a babe,» shed remark pointedly, holding Thomas near the window. «Odd, isnt it, that his are so dark?»
One evening, when Thomas was but three months old, William returned late from the mill. I sat feeding our son, my hair unkempt, weariness pressing upon me like a leaden cloak. He did not greet me. Instead, he stood stiffly, arms folded.
«We must speak,» he said.
I already knew.
«Mother and Father believe a blood test would settle matters. For peace.»
«For peace?» I echoed, my voice brittle. «You believe Ive betrayed you?»
William shifted uneasily. «No, Eleanor. But they fret. I only wish to ease their minds.»
My heart sank. For them. Not for me. Not for Thomas.
«Very well,» I said after a pause, my tears unshed. «You shall have your test. But I demand something in return.»
William frowned. «What do you mean?»
«If I endure this insult, you must vowhere, before your parentsthat anyone who doubts me after this shall never darken our door again.»
William hesitated. Behind him, Margaret stiffened, her arms crossed, her gaze like frost.
«And if I refuse?»
I met his eyes, feeling Thomass steady breaths against my chest. «Then you may all leave. Do not return.»
The silence hung heavy. Margaret opened her mouth to protest, but William silenced her with a look. He knew I spoke true. He knew I had been faithful. Thomas was his sonhad he but the sense to see past his mothers venom.
«Agreed,» William said at last, raking a hand through his hair. «Well take the test. And if it proves you right, thats the end of it.»
Margarets face soured. «Preposterous,» she hissed. «If youve nothing to conceal»
«Ive nothing to hide,» I cut in. «But you doyour spite, your meddling. It ends when the results come. Or youll never lay eyes on your son or grandson again.»
William flinched but held his tongue.
Two days hence, the test was done. A nurse dabbed at Thomass tiny mouth as he fussed in my arms. William submitted his own sample, his face grim. That night, I held Thomas close, rocking him, murmuring apologies he could not fathom.
I scarcely slept. William dozed on the settee. I could not bear him in our bed while he doubted meand our child.
When the results arrived, William read them first. He sank to his knees before me, the paper quivering in his grasp. «Eleanor forgive me. I never should have»
«Apologise not to me,» I said coldly, lifting Thomas from his cradle. «Apologise to your son. And to yourself. For youve lost something youll never reclaim.»
But my fight was not done. The test was only the beginning.
William knelt there, clutching the proof of what he should have known. His eyes were red, but I felt naughtno warmth, no pity. Only hollow where trust once dwelled.
Behind him, Margaret and my father-in-law, Alfred, stood frozen. Margarets lips were pressed so thin they paled. She dared not meet my gaze. Good.
«You swore,» I said evenly, bouncing Thomas, who cooed, oblivious. «You vowed that if the test cleared my name, youd cast out any who still doubted me.»
William swallowed. «Eleanor, please. Shes my mother. She only worried»
«Worried?» I laughed sharply, making Thomas startle. I kissed his downy head. «She poisoned you against your own wife and child. Called me falseall because she cannot bear to loose her grip on you.»
Margaret stepped forward, her voice trembling with fury. «Eleanor, do not be theatrical. We did what any family would. We had to know»
«No,» I interrupted. «Decent families trust. Decent husbands do not force their wives to prove their childrens blood. You sought proof? You have it. Now youll have your reckoning.»
William stared, bewildered. «What do you mean?»
I drew a steadying breath, feeling Thomass heartbeat against mine. «I want you all gone. Now.»
Margaret gasped. Alfred spluttered. Williams face paled. «What? Eleanor, you cannotthis is our home»
«No,» I said firmly. «This is Thomass home. Mine and his. And you shattered it. You humiliated me. You will not raise my son where his mother is branded a liar.»
William rose, anger eclipsing his guilt. «Be reasonable»
«I was reasonable,» I snapped. «When I endured that vile test. When I bit my tongue as your mother sneered at my housekeeping, my kin. I was reasonable allowing her here at all.»
I stood, clutching Thomas tighter. «But I am done with reason. Stay if you will. But your parents leave. Today. Or you all go.»
Margarets voice turned shrill. «William! Youd let her do this? Your own mother»
William looked at me, then at Thomas, then at the floor. For the first time in years, he seemed a lost boy in his own house. He turned to Margaret and Alfred. «Mother. Father. Best you go.»
The silence shattered Margarets composure. Her face twisted with rage. Alfred touched her shoulder, but she shook him off.
«This is your wifes doing,» she spat at William. «Do not seek forgiveness.»
She turned to me, eyes sharp as flint. «Youll rue this. You think youve won, but youll weep when he comes crawling back.»
I smiled. «Farewell, Margaret.»
Moments later, Alfred fetched their coats, murmuring apologies William could not answer. Margaret swept out without a backward glance. When the door shut, the house felt vast, quietyet lighter.
William slumped on the settee, staring at his hands. He lifted his gaze, his voice a whisper. «Eleanor Im sorry. I should have defended youdefended us.»
I nodded. «Aye. You should have.»
He reached for my hand. I let him take it brieflythen withdrew. «William, I know not if I can forgive you. This broke my faith in them and in you.»
Tears welled in his eyes. «Tell me how to mend it. Ill do anything.»
I looked down at Thomas, who drowsily curled his fingers about my shawl. «Begin by proving yourself. Be the father he deserves. Be the husband I deserveif you wish that chance. And if ever you let them near us without my leave, youll not see us again. Understood?»
William nodded, shoulders sagging. «Understood.»
In the weeks that followed, much changed. Margaret called, pleaded, ragedI answered not. Neither did William. He returned early each eve, took Thomas for strolls so I might rest, prepared supper. He gazed at our son as if seeing him anewfor perhaps, in truth, he was.
Rebuilding trust is no simple task. Some nights I lie awake, wondering if Ill ever see William as I once did. But each morn, when I watch him feeding Thomas his porridge, coaxing giggles from him, I think perhapsjust perhapswe might yet mend.
We are not perfect. But we are ours. And for now, that suffices.
