Dear Diary,
I closed my eyes and was back thirtyfive years ago, when Mary lay in the hospital ward, pale and exhausted. The doctors called it a miracle that we both survived. I promised myself then that my son would be the happiest child on earth.
Dad, can you hear me? Pauls voice pulled me into the present.
Yes, lad, I replied. Just lost in thought.
We were sitting in a little café opposite his office. He ordered a coffee; I took tea with a slice of lemonour usual Saturday ritual.
Whats the news on the project? I asked.
Weve got it! A threeyear contract. Now we can start thinking about a mortgage, he said, beaming.
I smiled. Paul had never let me down. Top of his class at school, a firstclass degree, a steady climb up the career ladder.
Hows Lucy? I asked.
Everythings fine. She wants children, but Im not ready yetwork keeps me busy. I warned, Dont drag your feet, son. Time flies.
He glanced at his watch. Dad, I have to go. Meeting in thirty minutes.
Sure, hurry. See you tomorrow at Marys? he replied.
I watched him leave, tall, lean, confidenta source of pride, a continuation of our line.
At home Mary was preparing lunch.
Hows Paul? she asked without turning from the stove.
Hes thrilled about the contract. She smiled. Good lad.
I slipped my arm around Marys shoulders. Forty years together, through illness, money troubles, the loss of our parents. Yet the family had endured.
Mary, remember how we dreamed of children? I said.
Every detail, she replied. You said wed have a boy and wed call him Paul.
And we did.
Mary froze for a moment; something about her posture seemed odd.
Whats wrong? I asked.
Nothing. The onion is getting into my eyes, she muttered.
Later that evening Michael, my cousin, called. It had been ages.
Victor, how are you? he asked.
Fine. And you?
Retired now. Yesterday I ran into Paul downtown.
So?
Nothing special. He just didnt look like you at all not even Mary.
What are you on about? I snapped.
Just a thought. By the way, do you remember the boy Mary dated back then? David, was it?
David? I asked, uneasy.
We had a split, lived apart for months. She was seeing someone else.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Michael, what are you saying?
Just old gossip. Forget it. The important thing is that the family is solid and the son is good.
After the call I lingered in the kitchen while Mary slept. I tried to recall that period of our quarrelwhat started it I couldnt remember. Mary had gone to stay with a friend in York for four or five months.
We eventually reconciled, and a year later Paul was born.
I turned on the computer and looked at pictures of Paul. He didnt look like meno eyes, no nose, no height. The saying He took after his mother seemed true, yet he didnt resemble Mary much either.
I shut the laptop, trying to banish the foolish thoughts. Michael loved to gossip; Paul was his son, my blood, my pride. Sleep eluded me.
The next day at work I couldnt focus. Michaels words kept looping.
Mary, I said that evening, do you remember when we split back then?
She halted, plate in hand.
Why dig up the past?
Just curious. Where were you living?
At Sophies flat in York. Why?
Nothing. Michael called yesterday, reminiscing.
She set the plate down and hurried out of the kitchen, looking strangely detached.
A week later I could take it no longer. I booked an appointment under the pretense of a routine health check.
Doctor, can I ask about tests? I asked.
What kind?
Well paternity. Purely hypothetical.
The doctor smiled. DNA test? Simple. Two weeks and youll have results. Though at your age?
Just a favour for a friend, I replied.
Back home I found Pauls old hairbrush, pulled out a few strands, mixed them with my own, and sent them to the lab three days later.
Two weeks stretched like years. Mary kept asking what was happening; I brushed it off as work pressure.
The results arrived on a Thursday morning. My hands trembled as I opened the file.
Probability of paternity: 0%
I read it three times, then four. The figure never changed.
Zero percent.
Paul was not my son.
I shut the computer, sank onto the sofa, and felt a hollow echo inside. Thirtyfive years I had loved a child who wasnt mine, raised him, poured my heart and money into him. And Mary had always known.
That night Mary came home, cheerful from work.
Victor, Paul called. He and Lucy will be over tomorrow. Ill make his favourite roast beef.
Mary, we need to talk, I said, my voice making her uneasy.
What about?
Sit down.
She sat opposite me, hands folded.
Paul isnt my son, I blurted.
Marys face went pale. What are you saying?
I have the test. DNA, zero percent.
She stared, then burst into tears.
Victor?
Whos the father? That David?
How do you know?
It doesnt matter how. Answer me.
It was ages ago we fought, split
And you went straight to him?
Not right away. A month later, I was lonely, confused
And then you came back to me with his child.
I didnt know! I swear I didnt! I thought it was yours!
Youre lying. Can you even count?
Mary sniffed. I realized after Paul was born, but what could I do? Destroy the family?
So for thirtyfive years youve been lying to me.
I wasnt lyingI was silent, for us all.
For yourself! Coward!
I stood, heading for the door.
Where are you going?
I dont know. I need to think.
Dont go! Lets talk!
But the door slammed behind me. Rain pattered on the pavement as I walked, wondering how I could ever look Paul in the eye again, hug him, celebrate his successes. He was a stranger born of my wifes betrayal.
Tomorrow they would arrive, smile, share news, and I would have to pretend nothing had changed. Yet everything had.
The next day I skipped work, stayed home, stared out the window. Mary tried to speak in the morning, but I stayed silent. At noon she left for her sisters house.
At five Paul called.
Dad, well be there in an hour. Lucy bought a cake.
Dont come, I said.
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. Paul, then again. I silenced it.
An hour later there was a frantic knock.
Dad, open up! I know youre home!
I sat motionless in my armchair.
Dad, whats wrong? Mums crying, wont explain!
The knocking continued, then pounding.
Open up or Ill break the lock!
Paul had a spare key. I remembered that.
Paul, Im coming!
I rose and opened the door. Paul stood, dishevelled and anxious.
Finally! Whats going on?
Come in.
We sat in the living room. Paul stared, bewildered.
Dad, explain something.
Youre not my son.
What?
Youre not my son. Youre not mine.
Pauls eyes widened.
Youve gone mad?
I did a DNA test. Result was zero.
What test? What are you talking about?
Paternity. It shows Im not your father.
He was silent for a moment, then asked quietly, So what now?
I dont know.
So after thirtyfive years of raising me, youre quitting because of a test? Thats it?
You dont understand
What dont I understand? That Mum was with someone else? And what of that?
How does that help me? She cheated on me!
You? Who cheated on you? Am I to blame?
I looked at Pauls eyesconfused, bruised, like a childs.
Dad, be honest. Whats changed? Im still the same.
Everythings changed.
Whats changed? Im not your son anymore? In an instant?
You never were.
Paul stood, shaking his head.
Right, so blood matters more than the years we lived together.
Its not that simple.
How can it be simple? You learned about the test and immediately disowned me.
Im not disowning you
You are! Yesterday I was your son, today Im not!
He moved toward the door.
Where are you going?
Home. Sort out your blood.
The door slammed. I was left alone.
Later Mary walked in.
Where have you been?
At Tinas. Ive been thinking. Victor, can we talk properly?
What about?
Our family.
What family? You tore it apart thirtyfive years ago.
I built it! I gave birth, raised, loved
A foreign son.
My son! And yours too!
Not mine.
She sat beside me.
Victor, remember the joy when he was born, the way you rocked him, taught him to walk?
That was before I learned the truth.
The truth is you were his real father, not the man who got him pregnant and left.
I stayed silent.
Paul cried today. A grown man crying. It hurts, Victor.
And it hurts me too?
It does. Hes innocent. Im not.
Neither of us is a stranger. Hes my son.
Not my son.
Mary stood.
Then live with your tests. Were done without you.
That night I couldnt sleep. I recalled Pauls childhood fevers, his tears at shots, the stories I read to him, the pride at school, the graduation speeches. Was it all for nothing?
A week later I went to work, returned home, ate in silence. Mary tried conversation; I replied curtly. Paul didnt call.
On Saturday I was alone; Mary had gone to her sisters cottage. I leafed through old photo albumsPaul in a pram, his first steps, a threeyearold birthday cake, a school ceremony in a little suit, his graduation, his university thesis defence. Every picture radiated love, genuine, alive. Could a DNA result erase that?
I closed the album and wept, the first tears in a week.
That evening Paul called.
Dad, can I come in?
Come on over.
He arrived half an hour later, looking weary.
How are you? I asked.
Okay, honestly not great.
We sat in the lounge, silence hanging.
Dad, Ive realised something. I dont care who my biological father is. To me youre Dad. Thats final.
I looked at him.
Paul
Let me finish. Thirtyfive years you were my fathertaught, protected, proud of me. Im proud of you. A test cant change that.
But Im not yours
Father? Of course I am! Who drove me to the hospital when I broke my arm? Who attended parentteacher meetings? Who funded my studies?
I was mute.
Dad, there are blood parents and life parents. Youre my life parent. That matters more than any strand of DNA.
I dont know how to move forward
Just keep living. Were still a family.
Paul, it hurts. It hurts a lot.
I understand. The pain will ease, but the family stays.
Paul stood.
Dad, tomorrow is Sunday. Come over, Lucys making stew.
Im not sure
Please, come.
The next morning I took ages to get ready. Mary waited, silent. Finally I slipped on my coat.
Lets go.
At Pauls house the warmth was the same as always. Lucy welcomed us cheerfully, as if nothing had happened. We talked about work, holiday plans, the usual family chatter.
I watched Paul, the man who had called me Dad for thirtyfive years, sharing his joys and worries, seeking advice, caring for his own. Was biology really more important than that?
After lunch Paul saw us to the car.
Dad, thanks for coming.
Thank you.
For what?
For being here. For putting up with me. For still being my son.
Paul embraced me.
Where will I go? Youre still my dad.
Back home Mary asked, How did it go?
Fine. We have a good son.
A son?
Yes, our son.
She burst into tears of relief.
Victor, Im sorry. I never meant to hurt you.
I know. And Im sorry toofor the harsh words, for the weeks of silence.
So we move on?
We do. No more secrets.
I hugged her. Thirtyfive years ago fate gave me a sonnot by blood, but by love. That love proved stronger than any test.
Family isnt DNA. Its the years we share, the joys and the sorrows, the love that isnt measured in percentages.
Paul will always be my son, and I will always be his.
