April 28
I arrived home from the shop, my arms heavy with bags, and found the hallway empty. The front door was ajar, a thin envelope on the mat. Ian, my husband, had slipped it in without a word. I frowned, feeling the weight of the paper before even opening it.
Lydia, youve got some nerve! I snapped, remembering the last time Ian had accused me of something similar. This is the third time in a month youve brought me a surprise like this!
Claire, I told you my niece was ill! I have no one else to look after her!
Then what am I supposed to do? I cant keep finding a replacement each week! This isnt a nursery, its a pharmacy!
Sophie, our senior pharmacist, stood in the back room pretending to sort medicine boxes. Gillian, the pharmacy manager, was berating Laura for yet another unexplained absence. Laura tried to explain, her voice trembling.
Give me one more chance! I wont do it again!
Thats exactly why its your last, Gillian said, tightening her lips. If it happens again, youre out. No discussion.
Laura nodded and hurried back to the counter. I let out a sigh. Working in a pharmacy was a grindconstant turnover, irritable customers, a strict boss. But I needed the pay; there was no other way.
When evening fell, I returned home exhausted. The flat was quiet; Ian hadnt yet come back from his job at the logistics firm, and our daughter, Poppy, was at her friends house doing homework. I changed into something comfortable, switched on the kettle, and sank onto the sofa.
Im fortytwo now, and lately I feel older than my years. Fatigue, headaches, sleepless nights. Doctors chalk it up to stress, prescribe vitamins, but the fog never lifts.
My phone buzzed. A text from Poppy: shed stay at Lenas for dinner and be back by nine. I replied briefly, Okay, dont be late. Poppy is fifteen, brighteyed, with her fathers dark hair and my mothers hazel eyes. Ian always bragged that she took after him, not me. Im the blond one with greyblue eyes and delicate features.
The front door opened and Ian stepped in, dropping his bag by the hall and heading straight to the kitchen without a greeting.
Hey, I said, trying to sound casual. How was your day?
Fine, he muttered, pouring water and gulping it down. I watched him, trying to read his mood. He seemed tense, his usual upbeat chatter missing. Usually he arrived home in good spirits, talking about colleagues and the day’s quirks.
Everything alright? I asked.
He grunted, Yeah, and slipped into the bedroom.
Something was definitely off. I wondered if work had been a nightmare; his role as a manager at a trading company could be stressful.
I walked over to the bedroom. Ian was sitting on the bed, staring at a point on the wall.
Ian, whats going on? Youre acting strange.
He lifted his eyes to meet mine. There was a coldness Id never seen before.
We need to talk, he said flatly.
About what?
About Poppy.
I sat down beside him.
Whats happened? Is something wrong with her?
Its nothing with her. Its me.
I frowned. I dont follow.
He stood, walked over to the wardrobe, and pulled out an envelope, handing it to me.
Read this.
The envelope bore the seal of a clinical lab. Inside was a single sheet of paper filled with tables and numbers. I scanned it, bewildered.
What is this? I asked.
A DNA test, Ian said, crossing his arms. I had it done a month ago.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
A DNA test? For what?
For paternity. I wanted to be sure Poppy was my daughter.
Youve lost your mind, I snapped, standing up. Of course shes my daughter!
No, he replied calmly. She isnt. Look here, at the bottom. The conclusion: paternity excluded.
I stared at the line he pointed to. In stark black type it read: Probability of paternity 0%.
This must be a mistake, I whispered, my voice trembling. It cant be true.
Why cant it? His tone hardened. Maybe you have something to tell me?
What am I supposed to tell you? I dont understand whats happening!
Dont pretend. Youve been unfaithful. Poppy isnt mine.
I sank back onto the bed, my legs giving way, my mind a whirl.
Ive never cheated you. Never!
Then explain why the test says Im not the father.
I dont know! Maybe the lab mixed up samples?
He smirked. Everyone says that. The lab made a mistake. They never err
Im not lying, I pleaded, gripping his hand. I swear I never cheated. Poppy is yours, Im certain of that!
He jerked his hand away. So youd keep lying to my face now?
No!
He grabbed his coat. I need time. Im going away for a few days. Ill stay with my mother.
You cant just walk out! We need to sort this out!
Figure it out yourself. Im tired of the lies.
He slammed the door behind him. I was left on the bed, the envelope trembling in my hand. It felt impossible. I remembered every heartbeat of my pregnancy, every moment we shared. Poppy was our child, conceived in love.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. What was happening? How could the tests be so wrong?
Poppy returned at nine, bright and chatty, eyes sparkling.
Mum, guess what Lena and I talked about? She has a brilliant idea for our biology project!
I dabbed my eyes and forced a smile. Thats wonderful, love.
Mum, were you crying? she asked, noticing my red cheeks. Whats wrong?
Nothing, just tired. Go have dinner.
Wheres dad?
Hes at his mothers. Shes got some things to sort out.
She shrugged and drifted to the kitchen. I sat, trying to collect my thoughts. I needed help.
I called my old friend Vicky. She answered after a few rings.
Hey, Susan, how are you?
Vicky, I need a place to crash. Can I come over?
Of course, whats happened?
Its a long story, Ill tell you when I get there.
I told Poppy to stay put and headed to Vickys flat in the neighboring suburb. Wed been friends since school, confidantes without reservation.
Vicky opened the door, worry etched on her face. Susan, you look pale! Sit down, tell me everything.
I poured out the DNA test, Ians accusations, his sudden departure. She listened, eyes widening.
Wait, he did a DNA test? Why?
I dont know. Maybe hes doubting us.
But werent things fine?
I thought so.
She thought for a moment. Did the test definitely say Poppy isnt his?
Yes. Zero percent.
Thats impossible!
I dropped my head onto my arms. Im lost. I never cheated.
Listen, any lab can make a mistake. People are fallible. Maybe the samples got swapped?
Ian swears the lab is topnotch, never makes errors.
Even the best labs can slip up. It happens.
Should we get another test?
Exactly. Do a second test at a different lab, just to be sure.
A spark of hope lit inside me. I could prove him wrong.
The next day I searched online for reputable medical centres offering DNA testing. I chose the one with the best reviews and booked an appointment.
Ian didnt call. My texts went unanswered. Poppy kept asking about her dad, and I told her that Grandmother had urgent matters and that hed be back soon.
Saturday we drove to the clinic. Poppy didnt understand why we needed a medical test, but I told her it was just a health check.
They took a cheek swab; the whole thing took five minutes. Results were promised within a week.
On the drive home, Poppy asked, Mum, why are we doing this?
Just a precaution, love. Its good to keep an eye on health.
She shrugged, still a little uneasy.
The week crawled by. I kept up with work at the pharmacy, but my mind never left the pending result. Gillian, the manager, kept reprimanding me for a string of mistakes in the inventory.
Mrs. Thompson, youre three errors deep today! Snap out of it!
I muttered an apology, but my thoughts were elsewhere. What if the second test also said zero?
On the fifth day Ian finally called, his voice low.
Hey, how are you both?
Fine, I replied, flat. Poppy asks about you.
Ill be back soon. I have something to think over.
I told him about the repeat test. He was silent for a moment.
Why?
To confirm. Im sure the first one was wrong.
He sighed. Fine. Ill come and see the results.
Monday arrived and the email landed in my inbox. My hands shook as I opened the attachment. The same line stared back at me: Probability of paternity 0%.
I read it over and over. Two independent tests from two different labs, the same verdict.
Later that evening Ian came home. I showed him the second report. He nodded.
See? Same result.
Why? I swear I never cheated! My voice cracked.
The facts are plain. Poppy isnt my daughter. That means you must have been unfaithful.
No! Could it be something with you? A genetic quirk?
Youre talking nonsense.
He sat opposite me, eyes hard.
Alright, lets think back. When Poppy was conceivedautumn, right? We werent married yet, just dating for six months.
Yes, September.
Did you see anyone else then?
No, only you.
Are you sure?
Absolutely.
He sighed. I dont know what to think.
A memory flickered. Ian, are you really my husband?
He looked bewildered. What?
Maybe the hospital mixed us up? Could they have swapped babies?
Youre hearing things. Babies arent swapped that often.
Maybe they did in the first days?
I felt absurd. Youre making up crazy theories just to avoid the truth.
Poppy burst into the room, full of energy. Dad, youre home! I missed you!
Ian hugged her, his face softening. Hey, love. Hows school?
Good. Are you staying?
Im not going anywhere.
I watched them, seeing the genuine affection in Ians eyes. Even if the tests said otherwise, he truly loved Poppy.
When the girl left, Ian and I were alone again.
Lets see a geneticist, someone who can explain these results, I suggested.
Pointless, he replied. But fine, one more try.
We booked an appointment with a renowned geneticist in Leeds. He was a silverhaired man in his fifties, meticulous and calm.
Two independent tests both say zero, I summarized.
He examined the reports. After a while, he spoke. There is a rare condition called chimerism, where a person carries two different sets of DNA. It can happen if an embryo absorbs its twin early on. If the sample taken contains the other DNA, the test could show a negative result even though the biological father is the expected one.
I stared, stunned. So Ian could be a chimera?
Its extremely uncommon, but possible. To verify, wed need samples from multiple tissuesblood, saliva, hair, skinto see if the DNA varies.
Can we do that?
Yes. Collect from different sites and compare.
A glimmer of hope returned. I called Ian straight away.
Chimerism? Ive never heard of that.
It exists, albeit rare. We need to test you from several sources. It might explain the discrepancy.
He hesitated. Sounds mad.
Its the only explanation left.
After a long pause, he consented. Alright. If it eases your mind, Ill do it.
The clinic took his blood, cheek swab, a few hair strands, and a tiny skin scrape. They promised results in two weeks.
Those two weeks felt endless. I barely ate, my work suffered, and Gillians reprimands grew sharper. Thompson, focus! We cant afford mistakes!
I nodded, but my thoughts were consumed by the looming answer. What if there was no chimerism? What then?
Finally the day came. Ian and I sat in the same clinic, the doctors face unreadable.
The samples all show the same DNA. No chimerism detected, he said. Your genetic material is uniform.
My heart sank. So theres nothing unusual?
No. The only logical conclusion is that you are not the biological father.
Ian stood, a cold smile forming. I told you, Susan. The truth has finally surfaced.
We left the clinic in a cold drizzle, the street littered with fallen leaves. I tried to speak, but only managed a hoarse, I dont understand. He turned to me, his eyes hard.
Enough, Susan. The facts are clear. I cant keep pretending.
I clutched my hands together. But I remember everything. I remember being with you that night. I remember feeling your hand on my back. How can that be wrong?
He sighed. Lets be honest. Did you ever see a doctor about fertility? Any procedures?
I hesitated, then a vague recollection surfaced. There was something a clinic suggested a treatment because I couldnt get pregnant naturally.
What kind of treatment?
I think it was artificial insemination. I signed papers, but I never read them properly.
He stared, the pieces clicking. So the donors sperm might have been used.
A cold dread washed over me. Can I see those records?
The clinic had long since closed, the doctor who handled it had passed away. The files were incompleteonly a note saying donor material used, no donor identity.
It means well never know who the sperm came from, Vicky whispered when I called the old clinic later. The records arent complete.
The truth hit like a hammer: Poppy was conceived with donor sperm, not Ians.
I told Ian everything. He listened, his expression a mix of anger and sorrow.
Are you saying you never knew? he asked quietly.
I thought it was your I trusted the doctor. I didnt think anyone would lie to me.
He paced the room, then stopped. Ive raised her as my own for fifteen years. Thats a life.
I reached for his hand. Ian, I never cheated. I was misled, but I loved you and Poppy. Im sorry.
He withdrew his hand. What do we do now?
The days that followed were a fog of strained conversations. He stayed in the house but kept his distance, interacting with Poppy as a father would, yet with Poppy, he asked, Are we okay, love?
I think so, I replied, though my heart ached.
One night, after Poppy had gone to bed, Ian sat down beside me.
Ive thought a lot, he said. I cant pretend this isnt what happened, but I dont want to lose this family. Ill stay, for you and for her.
Relief flooded me, tears spilling over. Thank you. I promise well never bring this up again. Lets start fresh.
He nodded, and we embraced, the tension finally easing.
Life gradually slipped back into its familiar rhythm. Poppy continued at school, Ian went back to work, and I kept my shift at the pharmacy. The DNA saga became a distant, unsettling memory.
Sometimes I wonder about the anonymous donorwho he was, what his life was like. I push the thought away; it matters little now. What matters is that Poppy is happy, that we are a family.
A few weeks later Poppy announced at dinner, Mum, Dad, our school is offering a genetic ancestry test! Everyone can find out where their roots are.
Ian looked at me. Do you want to do it?
She beamed, Its fun! Lena found out she has Scandinavian roots!
I smiled, Maybe later. We already know enough about ourselves.
Ian chuckled, Right, were fine as we are.
Poppy rolled her eyes, Youre missing out! but she didnt push.
Watching Ian tuck Poppy into bed that night, I felt a quiet gratitude. The love we share isnt bound by chromosomes; its built on care, laughter, and shared meals. The DNA test may have shattered our assumptions, but it also revealed how resilient love can be.
Ive learned that family is forged by choice, not by blood. And in that choice, we have found our strength.
