I never imagined the man I adoredthe father of my childwould ever stare me deadintheeye and question whether our son truly belonged to him. Yet there I was, perched on the faded beige settee in our little Yorkshire terrace house, cradling our wailing infant while my husband and his parents flung accusations like shards of glass.
It all started with a glance. When my motherinlaw, Patricia, first laid eyes on Poppys baby, Ethan, in the hospital ward, she furrowed her brow. With a whisper that slipped past Mark as I pretended to be asleep, she muttered, He doesnt look like a Collins. I pretended not to hear, but her words cut deeper than the stitches from my Csection.
Mark laughed it off at first. We joked about how babies change, how Ethan inherited my button nose and Marks sharp chin. But that seed of doubt had been planted, and Patricia watered it with suspicion whenever she could.
Remember, Mark had blue eyes as a newborn, she would say, holding Ethan up to the fluorescent light. Isnt it odd his eyes are now so dark?
One night, when Ethan was three months old, Mark trudged home late from the mill. I was on the sofa, feeding the baby, hair clinging to my shoulders, exhaustion draped over me like a heavy blanket. He offered no kiss, only a stiff silhouette with arms crossed.
We need to talk, he said.
I already knew the shape of the words that would follow.
Mom and Dad think it would be best to do a DNA test. To clear the air.
To clear the air? I echoed, voice hoarse with disbelief. You think Ive been unfaithful?
Mark shifted, unease flickering across his face. No, Poppy. Not at all. Theyre worried. I just want to settle thisfor everyone.
My heart sank. For everyone. Not for me, not for Ethan, but for them.
Fine, I said after a long pause, choking back tears. You want a test? Youll get one. But I want something in return.
Marks brow knotted. What do you mean?
If I submit to this insult, you agree to let me handle whatever comes, and you promiseright here, in front of your parentsthat anyone who still doubts me after this will be cut off.
Patricias arms tightened, eyes turning to ice.
And if I refuse?
I met his gaze, feeling Ethans soft breaths against my chest. Then you can all leave. Dont come back.
Silence thickened. Patricia opened her mouth to argue, but Mark silenced her with a single glance. He knew I wasnt bluffing. He knew Id never cheated. Ethan was his sonhis mirror, if only he could see past his mothers poison.
Alright, Mark said finally, running a hand through his hair. Well do the test. And if it proves what you say, thats it. No more accusations.
Patricias face twisted, as if shed swallowed a lemon. This is absurd, she hissed. If you have nothing to hide
I have nothing to hide, I snapped. But you doyour hatred, your meddling. It ends once the test is done, or youll never see your grandson again.
Mark winced, but said nothing.
Two days later, the test was taken. A nurse swabbed Ethans tiny mouth while he whimpered in my arms; Mark gave his sample, his face a mask of grim resolve. That night I rocked Ethan, whispering apologies he could not understand, while Mark lingered on the sofa, halfasleep. I could not bear sharing the bed with a man who still doubted us.
When the results arrived, Mark read them first. He fell to his knees before me, the paper trembling in his hand. Poppy Im so sorry. I never should have
Dont apologise to me, I said coldly, lifting Ethan from the crib onto my lap. Apologise to your son. And to yourself. Because youve lost something you can never get back.
The battle was not over. The test was merely the opening move.
Mark knelt, clutching the proof of what he should have known all along. His eyes were red, but I felt no pity, no warmthonly a void where trust once lived.
Behind him, Patricia and my fatherinlaw, Gerald, stood frozen. Patricias lips were so tight they were white. She dared not meet my gaze. Good.
You promised, I said calmly, rocking Ethan, who gurgled happily, oblivious to the storm. You said that if the test cleared the air, youd cut out anyone still doubting me.
Mark swallowed hard. Poppy, please. Shes my mother. She was just worried
Worried? I laughed sharply, making Ethan flinch. I brushed his soft hair. She poisoned you against your own wife and son, called me a liar and a cheat because she cant stand not controlling your life.
Patricia stepped forward, voice trembling with righteous venom. Poppy, dont be dramatic. We did what any family would. We had to be sure
No, I interrupted. Normal families trust each other. Normal husbands dont force their wives to prove their children are theirs. You wanted proof? You have it. Now youll get something else.
Marks confusion deepened. Poppy, what do you mean?
I inhaled, feeling Ethans heartbeat against my chest. I want all of you gone. Now.
Patricia gasped. Gerald sputtered. Marks eyes widened. What? Poppy, you cantthis is our house
No, I said firmly. This is Ethans house. Mine and his. And you three smashed it. You doubted us, humiliated me. You will not raise my son in a home where his mother is called a liar.
Mark rose, anger swelling as guilt vanished. Poppy, be reasonable
I was reasonable, I snapped. When I agreed to that humiliating test. When I bit my tongue as your mother jabbed at my hair, my cooking, my family. I was reasonable letting her into our lives at all.
I held Ethan tighter. But Im done being reasonable. You want to stay here? Fine. But your parents leave. Today. Or you all leave.
Patricias voice shrilled. Mark! Are you really letting her do this? Your own mother
Mark looked from me to Ethan to the floor. For the first time in years, he seemed a lost boy in his own home. He turned to Patricia and Gerald. Mom. Dad. Maybe you should go.
The silence shattered Patricias perfect mask. Fury and disbelief twisted her face. Gerald placed a hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it away.
This is your wifes doing, she hissed at Mark. Dont expect forgiveness.
She turned to me, eyes as sharp as knives. Youll regret this. You think youve won, but youll regret it when he comes crawling back.
I smiled. Goodbye, Patricia.
In minutes Gerald snatched their coats, muttering apologies that Mark could not answer. Patricia left without a glance back. When the door shut, the house seemed larger, emptieryet lighter.
Mark sat on the edge of the settee, staring at his hands. He looked up, voice barely a whisper. Poppy Im sorry. I shouldve stood up for youfor us.
I nodded. Yes. You shouldve.
He reached for my hand. I let him hold it for a momentjust a momentthen pulled away. Mark, I dont know if I can forgive you. This has broken my trust in them and in you.
Tears welled in his eyes. Tell me what to do. Ill do anything.
I glanced down at Ethan, who yawned and curled his tiny fingers around my sweater. 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 me or Ethan again without my permission, you wont see us again. Understand?
Mark nodded, shoulders slumping. I understand.
In the weeks that followed, things shifted. Patricia called, begged, threatenedI never answered. Mark didnt either. He came home early each night, walked Ethan to the garden so I could rest, cooked dinner, looked at our son as if seeing him for the first timebecause, perhaps, he truly was.
Rebuilding trust is not easy. Some nights I lie awake, wondering if Ill ever see Mark the same way. But every morning, when I watch him feed Ethan breakfast and make him laugh, I think maybejust maybewell be okay.
Were not perfect. But were ours. And thats enough.
