15May2025
Today the house felt like a battlefield of words, and Im left clutching a piece of paper that shatters everything I thought I knew.
Your son isnt mine, I said, holding up the DNA results like a weapon after fifteen years of marriage. The kitchen fell silent; the teacup Id just set down clattered onto the table, spilling tea onto the tablecloth.
Olivias voice was low, steeltoned. Hes only fifteen, Daniel. Hes a child. They were playing, broke a window its not the end of the world.
I snorted. A child? At fifteen I was already doing summer jobs, helping my dad. And here you have Andrew smashing glass with his mates again. This isnt the first time hes gotten into trouble.
Olivia breathed deeply, fighting her irritation. Andrew does well at school, he swims. Yes, today they were foolish, but
Another but, I snapped. You always have an excuse for his misbehaviour. You know what surprises me? His conduct doesnt even resemble how we were raised. We respected our elders, we never acted like this.
Olivia shook her head. Times have changed, Dan.
Its not the times, I muttered, turning to the window. Its the blood.
She stared at me, confused, before the front door slammed open and Andrew stormed in, his lanky frame swaying, his tousled blond hair and grey eyes unmistakably like his mothers.
Hey, he muttered, dumping his backpack on the floor.
Dont ever throw things at me again, I warned.
He rolled his eyes. Come on, dad, its just a backpack.
Its not just a backpack, its your attitudeto things, to this house, to the rules, I said, fists clenching. We got a call from the headmasters office. They told us about the broken window at school.
Andrew glanced at Olivia. We were just playing ball in the yard. The ball hit the window by accident.
Accidentally? I growled. And it was the headmasters office window?
How would I know it was the headmasters? he shot back.
If Id known, would I have aimed elsewhere? I replied, bitterness in my tone.
Olivia stepped in. Andrew, dinners on the stove. Eat and then get on with your homework.
He nodded gratefully, picked up his bag and headed to the kitchen while I watched him go with a hard stare.
Dont you think youre too harsh? Olivia asked when he disappeared behind the hallway door.
And dont you think you spoil him too much? I retorted. No wonder hes not like me.
What do you mean?
Nothing. Forget it, I waved my hand and left the room.
Olivia stood in the middle of the sitting room, a cold shiver crawling up her spine. Lately Ive been quicker to pick fights over the smallest things. Shes always thought I was too demanding; Ive always thought she was too soft. Yet these last few months something has shifteda note of resentment, a whisper of suspicion that I cant shake.
Evening stretched on in a tense hush. Andrew locked himself in his room, I stayed in the study, Olivia tried to read but her thoughts tangled. My comment about blood kept looping in her mind.
Later that night, lying beside me in the dark, she whispered, Whats happening between you and Andrew? Why are you reacting so sharply?
I stayed silent long enough for her to think Id fallen asleep, then turned and said quietly, I just want him to grow into a proper manresponsible, not like
Like who? she pressed.
It doesnt matter. Sleep. I turned my back to her.
Morning brought no relief. Over breakfast we ate in silence. Andrew bolted to school without the usual lectures from me. I stared at my phone, not looking up.
Ill be late today, I said, finishing my coffee. Meeting with some clients.
Alright, Olivia replied. Ill sort dinner.
Dont bother, I snapped, getting up. Im not sure when Ill be back.
The day crawled. Olivia worked from home translating articles for a scientific journal, but her focus kept drifting back to my strange remark about blood and the widening gulf between me and our son.
Andrew returned from school in high spirits, apologising to the headmaster for the broken window.
Weve decided to take up a weekend job to pay for the glass, he told us while helping Olivia chop vegetables for a salad.
Thats a good idea, Olivia smiled. Dad will be pleased.
Andrew frowned. I doubt it. Hes seemed angry with me lately, no matter what I do.
Dont say that, Olivia said, rubbing his back. He just worries about you, wants you to become a good person.
Good like him? Andrew snapped, hurt flashing in his voice. Like a man who walks in and starts criticizing everyone?
Olivias tone hardened. Dont speak like that about your father.
Sorry, he muttered, head down. Sometimes I feel he never loved me.
My heart clenched. I pulled him into a hug. Thats not true. He loves you. He just shows it in his own way.
He shrugged. If you say so
I never made it to dinner. By ten oclock the house was quiet; Olivias calls went straight to voicemail. It was oddnormally Id let her know if I was running late.
When the front door finally clicked, I stepped in, the smell of stale tea lingering. My gait was uneven; it was obvious Id been drinking.
Where have you been? I was worrying, Olivia said, moving toward me.
I looked at her oddly, almost evaluating. Worried? Seriously?
Yes, you didnt answer my calls, you didnt say anything
Fifteen years, I began, swaying slightly. Fifteen years Ive been the model husband, working, providing, never asking questions. And you
What? Olivias voice trembled.
You know what I have here, I said, pulling a folded sheet of paper from my pocket. I spread it on the kitchen table. DNA test results. Your son isnt mine, Olivia. Fifteen years of a lie.
The world seemed to tilt. Olivia clutched the edge of the table, trying not to fall.
What? A test? When did you
A week ago, I said, a bitter smile on my face. I told Andrew we needed a health check. He went for it. Today the results came.
She read the paper, her hands shaking. The medical jargon blurred, but the conclusion was stark: Paternity excluded.
This cant be right, she whispered. There must be an error.
An error? I laughed, though there was no humor. Who is the father then, Olivia?
You, she said firmly. Youre his father. I never
I thought I knew, I said, shaking my head. Fifteen years, half a life, and now I discover Ive been raising someone elses child.
She shouted, Its a mistake! Maybe the lab mixed up samples, or
Or what? I pressed. Did you have a fling before we married? Did you cheat at some point?
Never! she sobbed. Ive loved only you.
Then explain this! I slammed my palm on the paper. Why does the DNA say otherwise?
From the hallway, Andrew appeared, hair dishevelled from sleep, wearing a Tshirt and shorts. His face showed confusion.
Nothing, love, Olivia said quickly. Just a grownup conversation. Go back to bed.
Andrew stared at us, bewildered.
Dad, I said, voice cracking, does hedoes he have a right to know?
Dont bring this up with him, Olivia begged. Not now.
But why not? I asked, rising unsteadily. He deserves the truth.
Andrew took a step back. Dad, youre drunk, he said quietly.
Im not your father! I shouted, sweeping the cup off the table. Look! I thrust the paper into his hands. This is proof Ive been living a lie for fifteen years.
He read, his face paling.
Is this true? he asked his mother.
No! Olivia rushed to him, hugging him tightly. It must be a terrible mistake.
Do you work in a lab? I asked, sarcasm dripping. What gives you confidence its an error?
Because I know the truth, Olivia replied firmly. I never cheated. Ive never been with another man.
Andrew broke free, his voice shaking. Who is my real father then?
Silence settled like a heavy blanket. I sank back into my chair, anger draining from me. Olivia pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to hold back sobs.
I want the full truth, Andrew whispered.
Olivia nodded slowly. You deserve it.
Whats difficult? I snorted. Just name the real father.
Olivia took a deep breath. Do you remember my sister Natalie?
Your sister who died before I was born? Andrew asked. In that car crash?
Yes. She sat down, the weight of the memory evident. Natalie was my twin. She was bright, daring, always getting into scrapes. I was the quieter one.
I frowned. What does that have to do with this?
It matters because Natalie was pregnant when the crash happened. She was seven months along. The doctors saved the babya little boy.
The kitchen seemed to spin. Youre saying I stammered. Andrew is Natalies son?
Yes, Olivia said, eyes locked on mine. Wed just started dating when the accident occurred. Natalie was alone; the father vanished when he learned about the pregnancy. After the crash, her parents, already elderly and grieving, couldnt care for the child. I decided to raise him as my own.
So thats why you rushed into marriage, I muttered. I thought you were headoverheels for me.
I was headoverheels for you, she replied, pleading. I loved you and hoped youd accept the child.
You never told me he wasnt yours! I exploded, pounding the table. You made me believe he was my son!
Every day I wanted to tell you, she sobbed, but I feared youd leave. Then I feared youd hate me. And then it was too late. You were already attached to Andrew.
Are you not my mother? Andrew asked, voice trembling.
No, technically Im his aunt, Olivia said, hugging him. But I raised him, loved him every day of his life. Hes always been my son.
What about my real mother? Natalie?
She was beautiful, brave, an artist. You have her eyes and her laugh. When you grin, I hear her voice.
And my real father?
I dont know, Olivia admitted. Natalie never told me. He ran away when he learned about the baby.
I buried my face in my hands. Fifteen years why didnt you tell me?
I was scared, she whispered. Scared of losing you. And then I thought the truth would only destroy everything we built.
I looked up, eyes red. The difference is trust, Olivia. The difference is honesty.
She dropped to her knees, tears spilling. Im sorry. I loved you. I still do. And I love Andrew more than anything.
Andrew stood, still processing. I dont know what to feel.
Dont worry, I said, surprising myself with a softer tone. Youre still my son. Not by blood, but by the years weve shared. Thats what matters.
He hesitated, then said, Im glad youre my dad, even if youre not my biological dad.
A small smile cracked my face for the first time that day. And youre my son, regardless of DNA.
Olivia wiped her cheeks, looking at us both. We have a lot to talk about, a lot to heal. But weve survived fifteen years of love, lies, and now truth.
Later, after the sun had risen high, we finally ate breakfast togethertired, raw, yet somehow at peace.
Tonight I learned a hard lesson: family isnt measured in chromosomes or paperwork. Its built on the choices we make, the care we give, and the willingness to stand by each other even when the facts crumble. In the end, love proved stronger than any test.
