“I think we all know he’s not mine,” blurted Peter over Sunday roast, but the DNA test would soon prove otherwise.
“I don’t see the point in this charade, Emma,” huffed Margaret, adjusting the floral centrepiece with a critical eye. “You and Peter have been at each others throats for months. Do we really need to pretend everythings fine for three courses?”
Emma polished the crystal wine glassesa wedding gift from her mother-in-lawwith meticulous care. Ten years of marriage had seemed like just the beginning back then. Now, five years later, even a simple family dinner felt like walking a tightrope.
“Mum, Jacks fifteen. Hes not stupid. But I want him to see that Peter and I can still be civil. Family matters.”
Margaret sighed and shook her head. At sixty-three, she was sharp as a tack and twice as blunt. After her husband passed, shed moved in with Emma and Jack, becoming the rock they leaned on.
“Your father, God rest him, used to say, A rotten bridge wont hold a heavy cart. And love, with all due respect, your marriage is that bridge right now.”
Emma set down the last glass and turned to the window. The April evening painted the sky in soft pinks. Somewhere out there in London, Peter was finishing his workday. Would he even show up? Lately, hed been coming home lateif at allcold and distant.
“Some things need fixing, Mum. For Jacks sake.”
A lanky teenager burst in, shoving textbooks into his backpack.
“Mum, Im off to Toms. Weve got physics homework.”
“Not so fast,” Emma caught his sleeve. “Family dinner, remember? Your dads coming.”
Jack rolled his eyes with a theatrical sigh. “Why bother? Hes barely home these days. Dyou really think he cares?”
“Jack!” Margaret scolded. “Dont speak about your father like that. He works hard for this family.”
“Yeah, especially on weekends and evenings,” Jack muttered. “Come on, Mum, please? Ill be back by seven, swear.”
Emma relented. Lately, her son had become withdrawn, spending less time at home. Maybe letting him go was for the bestless tension all around.
“Fine. But seven sharp. Your dads got something important to say.”
When Jack left, Margaret shook her head. “The boys not daft, Emma. Dont lie to him. If its over with Peter, just say so.”
“Its not over, Mum,” Emma turned away, blinking back tears. “Just a rough patch. Every marriage has them.”
Margaret opened her mouth, but the front door clicked open. Peter was home early. Emma hastily wiped her eyes and forced a smile.
“Hi,” she called down the hallway.
Peter gave a curt nod, hanging up his coat. He looked exhaustedshoulders slumped, his salt-and-pepper hair tousled. Twenty years together, fifteen married. Shed thought she knew every crease of his face. But these past months, hed become a stranger.
“Jack here?” he asked, heading to the kitchen.
“At a friends, back by seven. You wanted to talk to him?”
Peter nodded, avoiding her gaze. He greeted Margaret and sank into a chair.
“Tea, love?” Margaret offered. “Itll be half an hour till dinner.”
“No thanks,” he mumbled, scrolling through his phone.
Emma exchanged a glance with her mother. The air was thick enough to slice.
“Ill check the roast,” Margaret announced, tactfully disappearing into the kitchen.
Emma sat opposite Peter. “We need to talk.”
He looked up, and for the first time in ages, she saw real pain in his eyesnot just fatigue or irritation.
“About what?” His voice was flat.
“Us. Whatevers happening. Youre never home, we dont speak”
“Whats left to say, Emma?” He set his phone down. “Have we got anything left to say to each other?”
“Of course we do!” She leaned forward. “Fifteen years, Peter. Does it really end like this? Without even trying?”
He studied her, wrestling with something, then shook his head. “Lets wait for Jack. Ive got something to say to both of you.”
Her stomach dropped. Something irreversible hung over themshe could feel it in her bones.
At seven, Jack returned, buzzing with energy, oblivious to the tension.
“Dad! Hey!” He grinned, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “Hows the new project? You promised details!”
Peter forced a smile. “Later, mate. Lets eat first.”
Dinner was agony. Margaret prattled about the neighbours; Jack chattered about school. Peter barely touched his food, staring blankly at his plate.
“Pudding?” Emma offered as the plates were cleared. “I made your favouritetreacle tart.”
“Not now.” Peters voice was steel. “We need to talk. Properly.”
Margaret stood. “Ill give you some space”
“No. Stay.” Peters tone left no room for argument. “This concerns all of us.”
Emmas throat tightened. Peter looked resolutealmost hostile. Shed never seen him like this.
“Ive thought about how to say this,” he began, staring at the table. “But theres no easy way.” He met Jacks gaze. “I cant live a lie anymore. Your son isnt mine, Emma.”
Silence. Jack gaped. Margaret gasped, clutching her chest.
“What?” Emma finally choked out. “Thats insane!”
“I know everything,” Peter said quietly, each word a hammer blow. “About you and James before we married. He told me last week. Said he couldnt keep it secret any longer.”
“James?” Emma looked between Peter and Jack, bewildered. “I havent seen him in years!”
“Stop lying.” Peter slammed his fist on the table, rattling the china. “He showed me your letters, photos. Said you met up while I was awaya month before our wedding. The timing fits, Emma. I did the maths.”
Jack shot up, white as a sheet. “What youre not my dad?”
“Peter, stop this!” Emma stood. “Youre not thinking straight! Jacks your sonIve never cheated!”
“Why would he lie?” Peter scoffed. “James said hes always regretted letting you go. Now hes divorced and wants to start over. With you. And his son.”
Jack bolted to his room, door slamming behind him. Emma moved to follow, but Margaret held her back.
“Give him space, love,” she murmured. Then, to Peter: “And youyoud trust some bloke over the woman youve loved for fifteen years?”
“Hes not just some bloke,” Peter said tiredly. “He was my best mate. Until he stole my fiancée. Now hes finishing the job.”
Emma sank into a chair, legs weak. Suddenly, it made sense. JamesPeters old friendhad pursued her before the wedding. Theyd met once in a café; hed begged her not to marry Peter. Shed refused. Nothing more. And now, fifteen years later, hed spun this lie. Revenge, served ice-cold.
“Peter, listen,” she said carefully, though fury simmered beneath. “I did meet James before the wedding. Once. He pleaded with me not to marry you. I said no. Thats it. No affair, no nothing.”
“And the letters? The photos?” Peter pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket. “See for yourself. Ill never forget our night. Your handwriting, Emma. Id know it anywhere.”
She took the letter with shaking hands. The writing looked like hersbut the words werent.
“This is fake,” she said. “I didnt write this.”
“Enough!” Peter stood, face twisted in pain. “Fifteen years raising another mans child. Fifteen years of lies. Im done. The divorce papers come tomorrow.”
He grabbed his coat and left. The front door slammed. Silence.
Emma sat frozen, piecing it together. How had James faked her writing? Why? What had she ever done to deserve this?
“What now?” Margaret whispered, pulling her close. “Jacks shattered. Peters lost his mind. How do we prove its all lies?”
Emma looked up, resolve hardening. “A DNA test. Only way to prove Peters his father.”
The next day, they went to a private clinic. Jack was quiet, aged overnight.
“Mum what if hes right?” he asked as they waited. “What then?”
“Hes your dad, Jack,” Emma squeezed his shoulder. “Ive never doubted it.”
“But those letters”
“Fakes. James always was a manipulative git. This is his payback for me choosing your dad.”
Jack was silent a long moment. Then: “If if he wasnt my dad would you love me less?”
Emmas throat closed. “Never,” she whispered, hugging him tight. “Youre my son. Always.”
Results took three days. But they needed Peters DNA.
“How do we get his sample?” Margaret fretted that evening. “He wont even answer calls.”
Emma held up a toothbrush. “Thisll do.”
The wait was agony. Jack skipped school. Peter went radio silent. Emma refreshed her email obsessively.
On the fourth day, the results arrived. She scanned the medical jargon, thenthere it was: 99.9% probability of paternity.
“Mum!” she cried, rushing to Margaret. “Proof! Peters his father!”
Margaret crossed herself. “Bless. Now show that stubborn man.”
But Peter wouldnt answer. Emma went to his officea sleek building in Canary Wharf.
The receptionist was frosty. “Mr. Whitmores on leave. No visitors.”
Emma stood her ground. “This is about his son. If he doesnt come out now, Ill make a scene theyll talk about for years.”
Five minutes later, Peter emergedunshaven, eyes bloodshot.
“What do you want?”
Silently, she handed him the results. He skimmed the page. Disbelief. Shock. Dawning horror.
“This this is real?”
“DNA doesnt lie,” Emma said. “But people do. Especially James.”
Peter collapsed into a chair, face in his hands.
“God, what have I done?” he rasped. “Jack, he must”
“Hes devastated,” Emma said coldly. “How could you believe this, Peter? After all our years?”
“He was so convincing,” Peter looked up, shattered. “The letters, photos And wed grown so distant”
Emma shook her head. “Distant because you buried yourself in work. Not because I betrayed you.”
A long silence. Then, quietly:
“Can you forgive me?”
“I dont know,” she said honestly. “But for Jacks sake, Ill try. He needs his father.”
That evening, Peter returned with flowers for Emma and a new console for Jack. Their talk lasted hours. When they emerged, both were red-eyed but calm.
“Sorted, Mum,” Jack managed a small smile. “Me and Dad talked. Stuff happens.”
Margaret wiped surreptitious tears and bustled off to cook a celebratory meal. Peter took Emmas hand.
“I was a fool. I dont deserve forgiveness. But I love you and Jack more than life. Ill earn your trust back.”
Emma swallowed hard, then nodded. “It wont be quick, Peter.”
“I know,” he squeezed her hand. “But well get there.”
A week later, James turned up on their doorstep, rattled.
“Emma, II didnt mean for it to go this far,” he babbled. “I was drunk, angry”
Peter shut the door in his face. Then turned to Emma and Jack:
“Nobody comes between us again. Ever.”
Emma smiled. For the first time in weeks, the storm clouds lifted. Thered be work aheadrebuilding trust, hard conversations. But theyd chosen each other. Chosen family.
“I love you,” she said simply, hugging them both. “Youre my boys.”
Jack groaned but hugged back. Peter kissed her forehead.
“Forgive me. Ill never doubt you again.”
Outside, a new day dawned. And for the first time in forever, they faced it togethera family tested, but unbroken.
