Victor has always dreamed of a son, but when he learns the truth he cannot hold back tears. Victor closes his eyes. Thirtyfive years ago, Margaret lies in a hospital ward, pale and exhausted. The doctors say its a miracle that both survived. He swears to himself then: this boy will be the happiest child in the world.
Dad, can you hear me? Pauls voice pulls Victor back to the present.
I hear you, son. I was just lost in thought.
They sit in a café opposite Pauls office. Paul orders a coffee, Victor a tea with lemonjust like every Saturday.
So, whats the project? Victor asks.
Weve got it! A threeyear contract. Now we can think about a mortgage.
Victor smiles. Paul has never let him down. Top of his class at school, a firstclass degree at university, a steady climb at work.
Hows Emma? Victor asks.
Everythings fine. She wants children, Im not ready yet. Work keeps me busy.
Dont wait too long, Paul. Time flies.
Paul nods, glances at his watch.
Dad, I have to go. Meeting in half an hour.
Of course, run. See you tomorrow at Mums?
Definitely.
Victor watches his son leave, tall, lean, confidenthis pride, his continuation.
At home Margaret is cooking lunch.
Hows Paul? she asks, not turning from the stove.
He got the contract. Hes thrilled.
Good lad.
Victor puts his arm around Margarets shoulders. Forty years together, theyve weathered illness, money problems, the deaths of their parents. Yet the family endures.
Margaret, remember how we used to dream about children?
I recall it perfectly. You said wed have a son and name him Paul.
And we chose the right name.
Margaret freezes, her posture odd to Victor.
Whats wrong? he asks.
Nothing. The onions are making my eyes sting.
In the evening, Victors cousin Michael callslong time no chat.
Victor, hows it going?
Fine. You?
Retired now. Yesterday I ran into Paul in the city centre.
And?
Nothing special. I just thoughthe doesnt look like you at all. Neither does Margaret.
What are you on about?
Just a thought. By the way, remember when Margaret had that boyfriend what was his nameDavid?
David?
Yes, the one you both fought with and split for months. She was seeing someone else then.
Victor feels a chill run down his spine.
What are you talking about?
Oh, forget it. It was ages ago. The important thing is a strong family and a good son.
After the call Victor sits in the kitchen for a long while. Margaret is already asleep. He tries to recall that period. Yes, they argued, though he cant remember why. Margaret left to stay with a friend in another city for about four or five months.
They eventually reconciled and a year later Paul was born.
Victor turns on the computer and looks at photos of his son. Indeed, Paul shares Margarets eyes and nose, not Victors. They always joked he took after his mother, but he also looks a bit like her.
He closes the laptop and tries to push the foolish thoughts away. Michael always loved gossip, and Paul is his sonhis blood, his pride. Yet sleep evades him.
The next day Victor cant focus at work. Michaels words spin in his head.
Margaret, he says that evening, do you remember when we split up in our youth?
Margaret freezes, a plate in her hands.
Why dig up the past?
Just curious. Where were you living then?
At Sophies place in York. Why?
Nothing. Michael called yesterday, we were reminiscing.
Margaret puts the plate down and rushes out of the kitchen. Victor watches, noticing shes acting strangely.
A week later he cant take it any longer. He books an appointment with his doctor under the pretense of a routine checkup.
Doctor, can I ask about some tests?
What kind?
Just paternity. Purely theoretical.
The doctor smiles.
A DNA test? Simple. Two weeks and youll have results. Though its unusual at your age.
Its just for a friend, Victor lies.
At home Victor finds Pauls old hairbrush. A few strands remain; he pulls them out and takes them to the lab three days later.
Two weeks drag on like two years. Margaret asks a few times whats happening; he waves it off, saying work is overwhelming.
The results arrive on Thursday morning. Victor opens the file with trembling hands.
Paternity probability: 0%
He reads it three, then four times. The number never changes. Zero percent. Paul is not his son.
Victor shuts the computer and collapses onto the sofa. His mind is empty. Thirtyfive years he has loved anothers child, raised him, been proud of him, poured his soul and money into him. And Margaret always knew. She always knew.
That evening Margaret comes home, cheerful from work.
Victor, Paul called. He and Emma will be over tomorrow. Well make your favourite shepherds pie.
Margaret, we need to talk.
Something in his voice makes her uneasy.
What about?
Sit down.
She sits opposite him, hands folded on her knees.
Paul isnt my son.
Margarets face turns white.
What are you saying?
I have the test. DNA. Zero percent, Margaret. Zero.
She stays silent for a minute, then two, then begins to cry.
Victor
Whos the father? That David?
How do you know?
It doesnt matter where it came from. Answer me.
It was a long time ago we fought, we split
And you went straight to him?
Not straight away. A month later. I was lonely, confused
And then you came back to me, with his child.
I didnt know! I swear I didnt! I thought he was yours!
Youre lying. Can you even count?
Margaret sniffles.
I realized after Paul was born. What could I have done? Destroy the family?
So youve been lying to me for thirtyfive years.
I didnt lie. I stayed silentfor us.
For yourself! Coward!
Victor stands and heads for the door.
Where are you going?
I dont know. I need to think.
Dont leave! Lets talk!
He slams the door behind him.
Rain falls outside as Victor wanders the pavement, wondering how he can look Paul in the eye now, how he can hug him, how he can celebrate his successes. A strangers child, the result of his wifes betrayal.
Tomorrow they will arrive, smiling, sharing news, and he will have to pretend nothing has changed. But everything has changed.
The next day Victor skips work, stays at home, staring out the window. Margaret tries to speak in the morning, but he remains mute. At noon she leaves to her sisters cottage.
At five oclock Paul calls.
Dad, well be there in an hour. Emma bought a cake.
Dont come.
What? Why?
Just dont today.
Are you ill?
No. Lets postpone.
Dad, whats happening? Mum is acting strange too.
Victor hangs up. Ten minutes later the phone rings again. Paul again, then once more. Victor silences it.
An hour later theres a frantic knock at the door.
Dad, open up! I know youre home!
Victor sits unmoving in an armchair.
Dad, whats wrong? Mum is crying and wont explain!
The knocking continues, then fists pound on the door.
Open up or Ill break in!
Paul has a spare keyVictor remembers.
Dad, Im coming in now!
Victor gets up and opens the door. Paul stands, dishevelled and anxious.
Finally! Whats happening?
Come in.
They sit in the living room. Paul looks puzzled.
Dad, explain something.
Youre not my son.
What?
Im not your father. Im a stranger.
Paul blinks, stunned.
Are you crazy?
I did a DNA test. Result was zero.
What test? What are you talking about?
The paternity test. Im not your father.
Paul is silent for half a minute, then asks softly, And now?
I dont know.
So after thirtyfive years of raising me, you find out about a test and thats it? The end?
You dont get it
What dont I get? That Mum was with someone else? And what of it?
How can that be? She cheated on me!
You? Who cheated on you? Am I to blame?
Victor looks at Paul and sees the confused, hurting eyes of a child.
Dad, tell me honestly. Whats changed? Im still the same.
Everythings changed.
Whats everything? Im no longer your son? In a second?
You were never my son.
Paul stands.
Got it. So blood matters to you, not the years weve lived together.
Its not that simple.
How isnt it simple? You learn about a test and immediately reject me.
Im not rejecting you
Youre rejecting! Yesterday I was your son, today Im not!
Paul walks toward the door.
Where are you going?
Home. You sort out your blood.
The door slams. Victor is left alone.
That evening Margaret returns.
Where have you been?
At Taras. I was thinking. Victor, lets talk properly.
What about?
Us. The family.
What family? You tore it apart thirtyfive years ago.
I built it! I gave birth, I raised, I loved!
A strangers son.
My son! And yours too!
Not mine.
Margaret sits beside him.
Victor, 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, a real father, not the man who fathered him and vanished.
Victor stays silent.
Paul cried today. An adult man crying! Hes hurt, Victor.
Am I not hurt?
It hurts. I get it. But hes not at fault.
Hes innocent. But Im nothing to him now.
Hes still your son!
No, he isnt.
Margaret stands.
Then live with your test results. Were done without you.
Victor cannot sleep that night. He remembers Paul as a child with a sore throat, crying at injections, Victor reading him fairy tales, beaming at school achievements, graduation, university. Was it all for nothing?
A week passes. Victor goes to work, returns home, eats quietly. Margaret tries to talk, he replies curtly. Paul doesnt call.
On Saturday Victor sits alone. Margaret has gone to her sisters cottage. He flips through old photo albums: Paul in a pram, his first steps, a thirdbirthday cake with candles, smiling faces; school assemblies, Paul in a little suit holding a bouquet, Victor beaming; graduation; university defence, Paul thanking his parents from the stage. Every picture shows love, real, alive. Could a test erase that?
Victor closes the album and finally weeps, the first tears in a week.
That evening Paul calls.
Dad, can I come over?
Come.
Paul arrives half an hour later, looking weary.
How are you? Victor asks.
Fine. You?
Not great.
They sit in the living room, silence stretching.
Dad, Ive figured something out. I dont care who my biological father is. To me youre my dad. Thats that.
Victor looks at his son.
Paul
Let me finish. Thirtyfive years youve been my father. You taught me, protected me, were proud of me. Im proud of you. No test can 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 is speechless.
Dad, there are blood parents and life parents. Youre my life parent, and that matters more than any DNA.
I dont know what to do now
It wont stay that way. Keep living. Were still a family.
Paul stands.
Dad, tomorrow is Sunday. Come over with Mum. Emma is making stew.
Im not sure
Please, come.
The next day Victor drags himself out of bed. Margaret waits in silence. He finally puts on his coat.
Lets go.
Pauls house feels warm and cosy as always. Emma greets them as if nothing has happened. They chat about work, holiday plans, ordinary family banter. Victor watches Paul, remembering the man who has called him dad for thirtyfive years, shared joys and worries, asked for advice, cared for him. Does biology matter more than that?
After lunch Paul sees them to the car.
Dad, thanks for coming.
Thanks to you.
For what?
For being here. For putting up with me. For staying my son.
Paul hugs Victor.
Where will I go? Youre still my dad.
Back home Margaret asks, How did it go?
Fine. We have a good son.
Our son?
Yes, our son.
Margaret cries with relief.
Victor, Im sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.
I know. And I forgive you, for everything these days, for the harshness.
So we keep living?
Yes, just no more secrets.
No more secrets.
Victor embraces his wife. Thirtyfive years ago fate gave him a sonnot by blood but by love. That love proves stronger than any test.
Family isnt about DNA. Its about the years spent together, the joys and sorrows shared, the love that doesnt depend on lab results.
Paul remains his son, now and forever.
