15March
I closed my eyes and was thrust back thirtyfive years. Motherinlaw Megan lay in the ward, pale and exhausted. The doctors called it a miracle that we both survived. I swore then that my son would be the happiest boy on earth.
Dad, can you hear me? Pauls voice snapped me to the present.
I hear you, lad. Just lost in thought.
We were sitting in a little café opposite Pauls office. He ordered a flat white, I had tea with a slice of lemon our usual Saturday ritual.
So, hows the project coming along? I asked.
Theyve accepted it! A threeyear contract, finally. We can even start thinking about a mortgage.
I smiled. The lad had never let me down. Top of his class at school, a firstclass degree, a steady climb at work.
Hows Lucy? I pressed.
Everythings fine. She wants children, Im not ready yet. Too much work.
Dont dawdle, Paul. Time flies.
He glanced at his watch.
Dad, Ive got a meeting in half an hour.
Go on then. See you tomorrow at Moms?
Definitely.
I watched my son walk away tall, confident, my pride, my legacy.
At home Megan was bustling in the kitchen.
Hows Paul? she asked without turning from the stove.
Got the contract, hes thrilled.
Good lad.
I slipped an arm around Megans shoulders. Forty years together, wed weathered illness, money woes, the loss of our parents. Yet wed held fast.
Remember when we dreamed of having children? I asked.
Like it was yesterday. You said, Well have a son; well call him Paul.
And we did.
Megan froze, a puzzled look crossing her face.
Whats wrong? I asked.
Nothing. This onion makes my eyes sting.
That evening my cousin Mike rang. It had been ages.
Victor, hows it going?
Alright. You?
Retired now. Yesterday I ran into Paul in the city centre.
And?
Nothing special, just thought he doesnt look much like you or Megan.
What are you on about?
Just a thought. By the way, remember that bloke you dated in your twenties what was his name? Derek, I think?
What Derek?
You know, the one you split with for half a year. She was seeing someone else then.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
What are you saying, Mike?
Never mind, its old news. The important thing is the familys still strong, the sons still good.
After the call I lingered in the kitchen while Megan slept. I tried to recall that period wed argued, shed gone to stay with a friend in Bristol for a few months. Eventually we patched things up and Paul was born a year later.
I turned on the computer and stared at pictures of Paul. He certainly didnt inherit Megans eyes or my nose, but he had my jawline. We always joked he took after his mother, yet he also bore my features.
I shut the laptop, trying to banish the intrusive thoughts. Mike was always keen on gossip, but Paul was my son, my blood, my pride. Sleep eluded me.
The next day I could barely focus at work. Mikes words kept looping.
Megan, I said that evening, do you remember when we split up back then?
She froze, a plate in her hands.
Why bring up the past?
Just curious. Where were you living?
With Sue up in York. Why?
Nothing. Mike called yesterday, we were reminiscing.
Megan set the plate down and hurried out of the kitchen, her movements oddly rehearsed.
A week later I could take it no longer. I booked a GP appointment under the guise of a routine checkup.
Doctor, could I ask about a test?
What kind?
Um a paternity test. Purely theoretical.
The doctor smiled.
A DNA test is straightforward. Two weeks and youll have results. Though, at our age, why?
Just a favour for a friend.
At home I dug up an old hairbrush belonging to Paul. I clipped a few strands, added some of my own, and sent them to the lab three days later.
Two weeks stretched on like two years. Megan kept asking what was happening, and I brushed it off as work pressure.
The results arrived on Thursday morning. I opened the file with trembling hands.
Paternity probability: 0%
I read it over and over. Zero percent. Paul was not my son.
The weight of the revelation crashed over me. Thirtyfive years I had loved, raised, and supported a child who was not biologically mine. Megan had known all along.
That night she came home, cheerful from work.
Victor, Paul called. He and Lucy will be over tomorrow. Ill make his favourite shepherds pie.
Megan, we need to talk.
My tone made her uneasy.
What about?
Sit down.
She perched opposite me, hands folded.
Paul isnt my son.
Megans face went ashen.
What are you saying?
I have the test.
The test?
The DNA. Zero percent.
She stared, then tears fell.
Victor
Whos the father? Was it that Derek?
How do you know?
It doesnt matter where it came from. Answer me.
It was ages ago we fought, split, I was lonely
I didnt know! I swear I didnt! I thought it was yours!
Youre lying. Can you count?
Megan hiccuped.
I realised after he was born, but what could I do? Tear the family apart?
So for thirtyfive years youve been deceiving me.
I didnt deceive, I kept quiet. For all of us.
You kept quiet for yourself! Coward!
I rose and walked to the door.
Where are you going?
I dont know. Need to think.
Victor, dont go! Lets talk!
The door slammed behind me. Rain hammered the pavement as I trudged home, wondering how I could ever look Paul in the eye again, hug him, celebrate his achievements. He was a strangers child, the consequence of my wifes affair.
Tomorrow they would arrive, smiling, sharing news, expecting me to act as if nothing had changed. Nothing had changed except everything.
The next day I skipped work, stared out the window. Megan tried to speak in the morning, but I remained silent. By noon she left for her sisters cottage.
At five, Paul called.
Dad, well be there in an hour. Lucy bought a cake.
Dont come.
What? Why?
Just dont today.
Are you ill?
No. Lets postpone.
Dad, whats happening? Mums acting strange too.
I hung up. Ten minutes later the phone rang again. I let it ring out.
An hour later someone pounded on the door.
Dad, open up! I know youre home!
I sat frozen in my armchair.
Dad, whats wrong? Mums crying, wont explain!
The knocking grew louder, fists pounded.
Open up or Ill use the spare key!
Paul had a spare key, I remembered.
Im coming!
I rose, opened the door. Paul stood, dishevelled and anxious.
Finally! Whats happening?
Come in.
We sat in the living room. Paul stared at me, voice shaking.
Dad, explain something.
Youre not my son.
What?
Im not your biological father.
Pauls eyes widened.
Are you mad?
I did a DNA test. Result was zero.
What test?
The paternity test. Im not your father, biologically.
He was silent for a moment, then whispered, So what now?
I dont know.
You mean I was raised for thirtyfive years and now you throw this away?
You dont understand
What dont I understand? That Mum was with someone else? And what of it?
Exactly. She lied to me!
Who lied to you? Me? Or who?
Im not the one who was cheated on. Im the one being cheated on now.
I looked into Pauls eyes confused, hurt, like a childs.
Dad, tell me honestly. Whats changed? Im still me.
Everything changed.
Whats everything? Im no longer your son? In one breath?
You were never my son.
Paul stood, furious.
Clearly blood matters to you, not the years we shared.
Its not that simple.
How can it be simple? You learned about the test and cut me off instantly.
I havent cut you off just confused.
Paul turned to leave.
Where are you going?
Home. Deal with your own blood.
The door slammed. I was left alone.
Megan arrived later, eyes puffy.
Where have you been?
At Tanias. Lets talk properly.
What about?
Our family.
What family? You ripped it apart thirtyfive years ago.
I built it! I gave birth, I raised, I loved!
Anothers son.
My son! And yours too!
Its not mine.
Megan sat beside me.
Victor, remember how happy you were when he was born, how you rocked him, taught him to walk.
That was before I learned the truth.
The truth is you were his father, the real one, not the man who merely seeded him.
I stayed silent.
Paul cried today. An adult man crying. Hes hurting, Victor.
And I?
Are you hurting? Hes innocent.
Neither of us is the others.
Megan stood.
Then live with your tests. Were done without you.
That night I couldnt sleep. I replayed memories of Pauls childhood fevers, his cries at the doctors, the bedtime stories I read, his school awards, his graduation. Could a piece of DNA erase all that?
A week later I went to work, ate in silence, answered Megans halfhearted attempts at conversation with monosyllables. Paul never called.
On Saturday I was alone. Megan had gone to her sisters cottage. I leafed through old photo albums: Paul in his pram, his first steps, his third birthday cake, his school ceremony in a little suit, the graduation day, his university thesis defence. Each picture radiated love, genuine, lived.
I closed the album and finally let the tears fall.
That evening Paul rang.
Dad, can I come over?
Come in.
He arrived half an hour later, looking tired.
How are you? I asked.
Honestly, not great.
We sat in the living room, the silence heavy.
Dad, Ive realised something. I dont care who my biological father is. To me youre my dad. Period.
I stared at him.
Paul
Listen. Thirtyfive years you were my father. You taught me, protected me, Im proud of you. That test changes nothing.
But Im not yours
Father? Of course I am! Who drove me to the hospital when I broke my arm? Who sat in parentteacher meetings? Who paid for my tuition?
I was speechless.
Dad, there are parents by blood and parents by life. Youre my lifeparent. That means more than any strand of DNA.
I dont know what to do now
Dont. Keep living. Were still a family.
Paul, it hurts. It hurts a lot.
I understand. The pain will ease, but family endures.
Paul stood.
Dad, tomorrow is Sunday. Come over with Mom. Lucys making stew.
Im not sure
Please, Dad.
The next day I lingered over my decisions. Megan waited in the doorway, silent. Finally I pulled on my coat.
Lets go.
At Pauls house the warmth was the same as ever. Lucy greeted us with a smile, as if nothing had changed. Over dinner we talked about work, holiday plans, the usual banter. I watched Paul, the man whod called me dad for decades, sharing his joys and worries. Was biology really more important than this?
After lunch Paul saw us to the car.
Thanks for coming, Dad.
No, thank you.
Why?
For being here. For putting up with me. For being my son.
He embraced me.
Back home Megan asked, How was it?
Fine. Hes a good boy.
A good boy our boy.
I mean my son, our son.
She wept with relief.
Victor, Im sorry. I never meant to hurt you.
I know. And Im sorry too, for the harsh words these past days.
So we keep going?
Yes, just no more secrets.
No more secrets.
I held my wife close. Thirtyfive years ago fate gave me a sonnot by blood, but by love. That love proved stronger than any laboratory result.
Family isnt defined by DNA; its forged by shared years, laughter and grief, and the willingness to stand by each other. The lesson I carry forward is simple: love, not genetics, makes a family.
