Hey love, Ive got to tell you this wild story thats been hanging over my head. Victor Clarke always dreamed of having a son, and when he finally found out the truth, the tears just came flooding. He shut his eyes and was taken back thirtyfive years. Emily was in a hospital ward, pale and exhausted. The doctors called it a miracle that theyd both survived. Victor swore then that his little boy would be the happiest kid on earth.
Dad, can you hear me? Pauls voice snapped me back to now.
Yeah, lad. Just got lost in thought, I said.
We were sitting in a little café opposite his office in the City. Paul ordered a latte, I had tea with a slice of lemon our usual Saturday ritual.
So, hows the project going? I asked.
We landed it! A threeyear contract, can you believe it? Now we can even think about a mortgage, he beamed.
Victor smiled. Paul never let him down top of his class at school, a firstclass degree, and a steady climb up the corporate ladder.
Hows Emma? Victor asked.
All good. She wants kids, but Im not ready yet. Works swamped, Paul replied.
Dont dawdle, mate. Time flies, Victor warned, glancing at his watch.
Dad, Ive got a meeting in half an hour, Paul said.
Go on then. See you tomorrow at Mums? Victor replied.
Sure thing.
Victor watched his son walk away tall, lean, confident. Proud as could be, the continuation of his life.
Back home, Emily was whipping up dinner.
Hows Paul? she asked without turning from the stove.
He got the contract, hes over the moon.
Good on him, Victor said, slipping his arm around her shoulders. Forty years together theyd weathered illness, money woes, the loss of their parents, but the family always held firm.
Emily, remember how we used to talk about having kids? Victor asked.
Like it was yesterday. You said wed name him Paul, she smiled.
And we did right.
Emily paused, a strange look crossing her face.
Whats up? Victor asked.
Nothing, just cutting onions, my eyes are burning, she muttered.
That evening, Victors cousin Michael called theyd hardly spoken in ages.
Vic, hows it going? Michaels voice crackled.
All right, you?
Retired now, mate. Ran into Paul downtown yesterday.
Right, and?
Nothin special, just thought he didnt look like you at all. Not even like Emily, Michael laughed.
What are you on about? Victor frowned.
Just then Michael dropped a bomb. Remember back in the day Emily had a bloke Dmitri, was it?
What Dmitri? Victors heart dropped.
You know, when you two split for a while. She was seeing someone else.
A cold shiver ran down Victors spine.
What are you getting at? he asked.
Forget it, old news. The point is, familys still solid, right?
After hanging up, Victor lingered in the kitchen, trying to piece together that old argument. He remembered theyd fought, but why? Emily had gone to stay with a friend in Canterbury for a few months four, maybe five? Theyd patched things up, and a year later Paul was born.
Victor turned on the computer, scrolling through photos of Paul. The boy had Emilys eyes, not his own. They always joked he took after his mother, but he didnt look much like her either.
He closed the laptop, trying to shake off the nagging thoughts. Michael loved gossip, and Paul was his son, his blood, his pride. Yet sleep wouldnt come.
The next day Victor couldnt focus at work; Michaels words kept looping.
Emily, he said that evening, remember when we were younger and went our separate ways?
Emily froze, plate in hand.
Why dig up the past? she asked.
Just curious. Where were you living then?
At Lucys place in Canterbury. Why?
Nothing. Michael called yesterday, we were chatting.
Emily set her plate down and hurried out of the kitchen, looking oddly tense.
A week later Victor couldnt take it any longer. He booked a checkup, pretending it was a routine health screen.
Doctor, could I ask about some tests? he said.
What kind?
Just paternity, for the sake of curiosity.
The doctor chuckled. DNA test? Easy. Two weeks and youll have results. Though Im not sure why youd need it at your age.
Just a friend asked, Victor shrugged.
At home Victor found an old hairbrush from Pauls childhood. He grabbed a few strands, dropped them off at the lab three days later.
Two weeks felt like two years. Emily kept asking what was going on, and Victor brushed it off, saying work was crazy.
The results landed in his inbox on a Thursday morning. He opened the file with trembling hands.
Paternity probability: 0%
He read it three, then four times. Zero percent. Paul wasnt his son.
Victor sat on the sofa, his mind a hollow void. Thirtyfive years hed loved a child that wasnt his, raised him, poured his heart and money into him. Emily had always known.
That night Emily came home, bright from work.
Vic, Paul called. He and Emma are coming tomorrow. Ill make your favourite shepherds pie, she said.
Emily, we need to talk, Victor began, his voice shaking.
What about?
Sit down.
Emily crossed her legs, hands resting on her knees.
Paul isnt my son, Victor blurted.
Emilys face went pale. What are you on about?
I have the test. Zero percent.
She sat silent for a beat, then started sobbing.
Vic?
Whos the father? Was it that Dmitri?
How would you know?
It doesnt matter where it came from. Just answer.
It was ages ago we fought, split
And you went straight to him?
Not right away. A month later, I was lonely, confused then I came back to you, with his child.
I didnt know! I swear I didnt! I thought it was yours!
Youre lying. Can you even count?
Emily sniffled. I realised after he was born. What could I do? Tear the family apart?
So youve been lying to me for thirtyfive years?
I didnt lie, I kept quiet. For us.
For yourself! Youre a coward! Victor snapped, standing up.
Where are you going? Emily asked.
I dont know. I need to think.
Dont go! Lets talk! she pleaded.
He slammed the door and stepped out into the rain, wandering the streets, wondering how he could ever look Paul in the eye again, hug him, celebrate his successes. The child hed loved was now a reminder of his wifes betrayal.
Tomorrow Paul and Emma would turn up, smiling, sharing news, and hed have to act like nothing had changed. But everything had.
The next day Victor skipped work, stared out the window. Emily tried to speak in the morning but he stayed mute. By lunchtime she left for her sisters house.
At five, Paul rang.
Dad, well be there in an hour. Emma bought a cake.
Dont come, Victor said.
What? Why?
Just not today.
Are you sick?
No. Lets postpone.
Dad, whats happening? Mums acting weird too.
Victor hung up, then the phone rang again a few minutes later. He let it go to voicemail.
An hour later someone pounded on the door.
Dad, open up! I know youre home!
Victor stayed seated, frozen.
Dad, whats wrong? Mums crying, not saying anything! the knocking continued, then turned into frantic bangs.
Open up or Ill use the spare key!
Paul had a spare key, Victor remembered.
Dad, Im coming in!
Victor got up and opened the door. Paul stood there, dishevelled and nervous.
Finally! Whats happening?
Come in, Victor said.
They sat in the living room, Pauls eyes wide.
Dad, explain something.
Im not your father, Victor said bluntly.
What?
Youre not my son. Im not your dad.
Pauls eyes widened even more. Are you serious?
I did a DNA test. Result was zero.
Which test? What are you talking about?
The paternity test. Im not your father.
Paul sat, stunned, then whispered, So what now?
I dont know, Victor admitted.
So after thirtyfive years you just drop this on me? Thats it?
You dont get it
What dont I get? That Mum was with someone else? And what does that change?
She cheated on me!
Me? Who cheated on who? Im not at fault here.
Victor looked at Pauls hurt eyes, remembering the boy who once clung to his leg.
Dad, be honest. Whats changed? Im still the same guy.
Everythings changed.
You mean Im not your son any more? In an instant?
You never were.
Paul stood, anger flashing. So blood matters more to you than the years weve lived?
Its not that simple.
How isnt it? You hear about the test and instantly push me away.
Im not pushing you away
Youre pushing me away! Yesterday I was your son, today Im not!
Paul headed for the door. Where are you going?
Home. Sort out your bloodline.
He slammed the door. Victor was left alone.
Later that evening Emily walked in.
Where have you been? she asked.
At Rachels. I was thinking. Lets talk properly.
What about?
Our family.
What family? You broke it thirtyfive years ago.
I built it! I gave birth, raised, loved!
A child that isnt yours.
My son! Yours too!
Not mine.
Emily sat down beside him.
Victor, remember how happy you were when he was born? How you rocked him, taught him to walk?
That was before I found out the truth.
And the truth is you were his real dad, the one who raised him, not the guy who just gave sperm and vanished, she said.
Victor stayed silent.
Paul cried today. A grown man crying. It hurts, Victor.
And it hurts me too?
It does. But hes not at fault.
Neither am I.
Emily stood. Then live with your test results. Were done without you.
That night Victor couldnt sleep. He replayed memories of Pauls childhood the fevers, the injections, the bedtime stories, the proud moments at school, the graduation, the university speech. Could a piece of paper erase all that love?
A week passed. Victor went to work, ate in silence, answered Emilys halfhearted attempts at conversation with oneword replies. Paul didnt call.
On Saturday Victor was alone. Emily had gone to her sisters cottage. He leafed through old photo albums Paul in a pram, his first steps, a threeyearold birthday cake with candles, the school assembly in a little suit, the graduation hug, the university defence. Every picture radiated love. Could a DNA test invalidate that?
Victor closed the album, tears finally breaking free.
That evening Paul rang.
Dad, can I come over?
Come in, Victor answered.
Paul arrived half an hour later, looking exhausted.
How are you? Victor asked.
Honestly, not great, Paul replied.
They sat in the living room, silence hanging between them.
Dad, Ive figured something out. I dont care who my biological dad is. To me, youre my father. End of story.
Victor looked at his son.
Paul
Let me finish. Thirtyfive years youve been my dad. Taught me, protected me, proud of me. Im proud of you. A test cant change that.
But Im not yours
Father? Absolutely. Who drove me to the hospital when I broke my arm? Who went to parentteacher meetings? Who paid for my tuition?
Victor was speechless.
Dad, theres bloodrelated parents and there are parents by choice. Youre my parent by choice, and that matters more than any strand of DNA.
Victor didnt know what to say.
Just keep living. Were still family.
Pauls eyes glistened. It hurts, Victor. It hurts a lot.
I know. It will pass. The family stays.
Paul stood. Dad, tomorrows Sunday. Come over, Emmas making stew.
Im not sure
Please, come.
The next morning Victor lingered, unsure. Emily waited, quiet. Finally he slipped on his coat.
Lets go.
At Pauls house the warmth was the same. Emma welcomed them like nothing had changed. They chatted about work, holiday plans, the usual banter.
Victor watched Paul, the man whod called him dad for three and a half decades, sharing joys, seeking advice, caring. Could biology outweigh that?
After lunch Paul walked them to the car.
Thanks for coming, Dad, he said.
Thanks to you, Victor replied.
For being here, for putting up with me, Paul added, hugging him.
Where else would I be? Im your dad, after all, Victor said, feeling a lump in his throat.
Back home Emily asked, How was it?
Fine, Victor replied, a small smile forming. Our sons a good lad.
Emilys eyes welled up. Victor, Im sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.
I know. And I forgive you. For everything.
So we keep going?
We do. No more secrets.
Emily hugged him tightly. In that moment Victor realised that thirtyfive years ago fate gave him a son not by blood, but by love. And that turned out to be what really mattered.
Family isnt about DNA. Its the years you share, the laughs, the tears, the love that isnt measured in lab results. Paul will always be his son, and thats the only truth that counts.
