Diary 12May
I closed my eyes and was thrust back thirtyfive years. Mary lay in the ward, pale and exhausted. The doctors called it a miracle that we both survived. I swore then that my son would be the happiest child on earth.
Dad, can you hear me? Pauls voice snapped me back to the present.
Yeah, son. Just lost in thought, I replied.
We were at a little coffee shop opposite Pauls office in the City. He ordered a coffee; I got tea with a slice of lemon the usual Saturday ritual.
Whats the latest on the project? I asked.
Theyve signed! A threeyear contract. Time to think about a mortgage, he said, grinning.
I smiled. Hed never let me down. Top of his class at school, a firstclass degree, a steady climb up the corporate ladder.
Hows Helen?
All good. She wants kids, Im not ready yet. Work keeps me busy.
Dont dawdle, Paul. Time flies.
He checked his watch.
Dad, Ive got a meeting in half an hour.
Go on then. See you tomorrow at Mums?
Will do.
I watched my son walk away, tall, confident my pride, my legacy.
At home Mary was preparing dinner.
Hows Paul? she asked without turning from the stove.
Got the contract, thrilled.
Good lad.
I wrapped my arms around Marys shoulders. Forty years together, through illness, money troubles, the loss of our parents. Wed weathered it all.
Remember how we dreamed of children? I asked.
Like it was yesterday. You always said wed have a son, lets call him Paul.
And we named him right.
Marys posture seemed strange, a shadow of something.
Whats wrong?
Nothing. The onions making my eyes sting.
That evening Michael, my cousin, phoned after ages.
Vince, hows it going?
Fine, you?
Retired now. Yesterday I bumped into Paul in the centre.
And?
Nothing special. Just thought he doesnt look like you at all. Neither does Mary.
What are you on about, Michael?
Just a thought. By the way, do you recall that chap Mary dated in her youth I think his name was David?
David?
Remember the fallout? You two split for months. She was seeing someone else.
A chill ran down my spine.
What are you talking about?
Never mind, its ancient history. The important thing is the familys solid, the sons great.
After the call I lingered in the kitchen while Mary slept. I tried to recall that period we had argued, I cant remember why. Mary went away to a friends in another town for four or five months. Then we patched things up and a year later Paul was born.
I turned on the computer, browsed through pictures of Paul. He didnt share my eyes, nose or height. People always said he took after his mother, yet he didnt look much like her either.
I shut the laptop, trying to banish the foolish thoughts. Michael loved gossip, and Paul was his son, his blood, his pride. Sleep eluded me till dawn.
The next day I couldnt focus at work. Michaels words echoed.
Mary, remember when we split in our early twenties? I said that evening.
She froze, plate in hand.
Why dig up the past?
Just curious. Where were you living then?
At Sarahs place in York. Why?
Nothing. Michael called yesterday, we were reminiscing.
She set the plate down and hurried out of the kitchen. Something about her demeanor felt off.
A week later I could take it no longer and booked a doctors appointment under the guise of a routine checkup.
Doctor, can I ask about a specific test?
Which one?
Just a paternity test, purely theoretical.
He smiled. DNA test? Simple. Two weeks and youll have results. Though Im surprised at your age.
Just a favour for a friend, I said.
At home I found Pauls old hairbrush, plucked the few strands left, mixed them with mine and sent the sample to the lab three days later.
Two weeks dragged on like years. Mary kept asking what was happening; I brushed her off, saying work was overwhelming.
The results arrived Thursday morning. I opened the file with trembling hands.
Paternity probability: 0%
I read it three, then four times. Zero percent. Paul was not my son.
I sat on the sofa, a void swallowing me. Thirtyfive years I had raised, loved, invested in a child who wasnt mine. Mary had always known.
That night Mary came home, cheerful from work.
Vince, Paul called. He and Helen will be over tomorrow. Hell make your favourite shepherds pie.
Mary, we need to talk.
My tone made her wary.
What about?
Sit down.
She sat opposite me, hands folded.
Paul isnt my son.
Marys face went pale.
What are you saying?
I have the test.
The test?
The DNA. Zero percent, Mary. Zero.
She was silent for a minute, then two, then began to sob.
Vince
Whos the father? That David?
How do you know?
It doesnt matter. Answer me.
It was ages ago we fought, split
And you went straight to him?
Not straight away. A month later. I was lonely, bewildered
And then you returned to me, with his child.
I didnt know! I swear I didnt! I thought it was yours!
Youre lying. Can you count?
Mary sniffed, I realised after he was born. What could I do? Destroy the family?
So for thirtyfive years youve been deceiving me.
I wasnt deceiving, I was silent. For all of us.
You were silent for yourself! Coward!
I stood and walked to the door.
Where are you going?
I dont know. Need to think.
Dont go! Talk to me!
I slammed the door shut.
Rain hammered the streets as I walked, wondering how I could ever look Paul in the eye again, hug him, share his triumphs. A strangers child, the price of my wifes betrayal. Tomorrow theyd arrive, smile, recount news, and Id have to pretend nothing had changed. Everything had changed.
The next day I didnt go to work. I stared out the window. Mary tried to speak in the morning, but I said nothing. At lunch she left to visit her sister.
At five Paul called.
Dad, well be there in an hour. Leah bought a cake.
Dont come.
What? Why?
Just dont today.
Are you ill?
No. Lets postpone.
Dad, whats happening? Mums acting strange too.
I hung up. Ten minutes later Paul rang again, then once more. I muted the phone.
An hour later there was a frantic knock.
Dad, open up! I know youre home!
I sat frozen in my armchair.
Dad, whats wrong? Mums crying and wont explain!
The banging grew louder. Open or Ill use the spare key!
Paul had a spare set I remembered that.
Im coming in!
I rose and opened the door. Paul stood there, hair dishevelled, eyes wide with worry.
Finally! Whats going on?
Come in.
We sat in the living room. Paul stared, puzzled.
Dad, tell me something.
Youre not my son.
What?
You arent my son. Im not your father.
Pauls eyes widened.
Youre mad?
I did a DNA test. Result was zero.
What test? What are you talking about?
A paternity test. Im not your father.
He stayed silent for a moment, then asked quietly, So what now?
I dont know.
So after thirtyfive years you raised me and now you just end it? Thats it?
You dont understand
What dont I understand? That Mum was with someone else? So what?
What? She lied to me!
Who lied to you? Me?
I looked into Pauls eyes and saw the hurt of a child.
Dad, be honest. Whats changed? Im still me.
Everythings changed.
Whats changed? Im no longer your son? In an instant?
You never were.
Paul stood, his voice shaking.
So blood matters more to you than the life weve shared?
Its not that simple.
How isnt it? You heard about the test and instantly disowned me.
Im not disowning
You are! Yesterday I was your son, today Im not!
He walked toward the door.
Where are you going?
Home. Deal with your own blood.
The door slammed. I was left alone.
Later Mary entered, eyes red.
Where have you been?
At Tinas. I thought we could talk properly.
What about?
Our life, the family.
What family? You broke it thirtyfive years ago.
I built it! Gave birth, raised, loved!
A strangers son.
My son! And yours too!
Not mine.
She sat beside me.
Vince, remember how happy you were when he was born? How you rocked him, taught him to walk?
That was before I learned the truth.
The truth is you were his father, the real one, not the man who conceived and vanished.
I was silent.
Paul cried today. A grown man crying. It hurts, Vince.
And it hurts me too?
Yes. But hes not at fault.
Neither am I. Yet hes nobody to me.
Nobody? Hes your son!
Not my son.
Mary stood.
Then live with your test results. Were done without you.
That night I lay awake, remembering Pauls childhood fevers, the tears at injections, the bedtime stories I told, his school awards, the graduation speech, the university defence. All those moments felt real. Could a lab result erase them?
A week passed. I went to work, returned home, ate in silence. Mary tried to speak, I answered curtly. Paul didnt call.
Saturday found me alone. Mary had gone to her sisters cottage. I flipped through old photo albums: Paul in his pram, his first steps, a birthday cake at three, the school assembly in a tiny suit, the graduation, the university podium. Every picture radiated love, genuine, alive. Could a DNA sheet cancel that?
I closed the album and wept, the first tears in days.
In the evening Paul rang.
Dad, can I come over?
Come.
He arrived half an hour later, tired.
How are you? I asked.
Honestly, not great.
We sat in the living room, silence stretching.
Dad, Ive figured something out. I dont care who my biological father is. To me youre dad. Thats final.
I looked at him.
Paul
Listen, thirtyfive years you were my father. You taught me, protected me, Im proud of you. That test changes nothing.
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 paid for tuition?
I was speechless.
Dad, there are blood relatives and there are parents by choice. Youre my parent by choice, and that matters more than any strand of DNA.
I dont know how to move forward
Its the only way. Keep living. Were still a family.
Paul, it hurts. It hurts a lot.
I know. The pain will fade. The family stays.
He stood.
Dad, tomorrows Sunday. Come over to my place with Mary. Leahs making stew.
Im not sure
Please, Dad.
The next day I lingered over my decisions. Mary waited, silent. Finally I pulled on my coat.
Lets go.
At Pauls house the warmth was unchanged. Leah greeted us as if nothing had happened. We talked about work, holiday plans, the usual banter.
I watched Paul, the man who had called me dad for thirtyfive years, sharing joys and worries, seeking advice, caring. Was biology any 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.
He hugged me.
Where will I go? Youre still my dad.
At home Mary asked, How did it go?
Fine. Hes a good son.
Our son?
Our son. My son.
Tears slipped down Marys cheeks, relief flooding her.
Vince, Im sorry. I never meant to hurt you.
I know. Forgive me too, for those weeks, for the harshness.
So we carry on?
Yes. Just no more secrets.
No more secrets.
I embraced Mary. Thirtyfive years ago fate gave me a sonnot by blood, but by love. That proved stronger than any lab report.
Family isnt DNA. Its the years spent together, the laughter and sorrow shared, the love that isnt measured by a test.
Paul will always be my son, and I, his.
