**Diary Entry 15th October**
I never imagined the man I lovedthe father of my childwould ever stare me in the eye and question whether our son was truly his. Yet there I was, perched on our cream sofa, holding our little boy while my husband and his parents hurled accusations like arrows.
It started with a glance. When my mother-in-law, Margaret, first laid eyes on Oliver in the hospital, she frowned. Whispering to my husband, James, while I feigned sleep, she muttered, “He doesnt look like a Whitmore.” I pretended not to hear, but her words stung worse than the stitches from my C-section.
At first, James brushed it off. We joked about how newborns change so quickly, how Oliver had my lips and Jamess brow. But that seed of doubt took root, and Margaret watered it with suspicion at every turn.
“James had such fair hair as a baby,” shed remark, holding Oliver up to the window. “Strange that Olivers is so dark, dont you think?”
One night, when Oliver was three months old, James returned late from work. I was on the sofa feeding the baby, exhausted, my hair tangled, weariness clinging to me like a damp coat. He didnt greet me with a kissjust stood there, arms folded.
“We need to talk,” he said.
I knew what was coming.
“Mum and Dad think we should do a DNA test. To put the matter to rest.”
“To put the matter to rest?” I echoed, my voice rough with disbelief. “You think Ive been unfaithful?”
James shifted uncomfortably. “No, Charlotte. Not at all. But theyre concerned. I just want this settledfor everyones sake.”
My stomach twisted. *For everyone.* Not for me. Not for Oliver. For them.
“Fine,” I said after a long silence, fighting tears. “You want a test? Youll get one. But I want something in return.”
James frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If I agree to this insult, you must promiseright now, in front of your parentsthat anyone who doubts me after this will be cut off. For good.”
James hesitated. Behind him, Margaret stiffened, arms crossed, her expression frosty.
“And if I refuse?”
I met his gaze, feeling Olivers steady breaths against my chest. “Then you can all walk out that door. Dont come back.”
The silence was suffocating. Margaret opened her mouth to protest, but James silenced her with a look. He knew I wasnt bluffing. He knew Id never betrayed him. Oliver was his sonhis spitting image, if only hed see past his mothers poison.
“Fine,” James said at last, running a hand through his hair. “Well do the test. And if it proves you right, thats the end of it. No more questions.”
Margaret pursed her lips. “This is absurd,” she hissed. “If youve nothing to hide”
“Oh, Ive nothing to hide,” I snapped. “But you doyour spite, your constant interference. This ends once the test is done. Or youll never see your son or grandson again.”
James flinched but stayed silent.
Two days later, the test was done. A nurse swabbed Olivers tiny mouth as he fussed in my arms. James did the same, his face grim. That night, I held Oliver close, rocking him gently, whispering apologies he couldnt understand.
I barely slept. James dozed on the sofa. I couldnt bear him in our bed while he doubted meand our child.
When the results arrived, James read them first. He sank to his knees before me, the paper trembling in his hands. “Charlotte Im so sorry. I never shouldve”
“Dont apologise to me,” I said coldly, lifting Oliver from his cot and settling him on my lap. “Apologise to your son. And to yourself. Because youve lost something you cant get back.”
But the battle wasnt over. The test was only the start.
James knelt there, clutching the proof of what he shouldve always known. His eyes were red, but I felt nothingno warmth, no pity. Just a hollow ache where trust once lived.
Behind him, Margaret and my father-in-law, Harold, stood frozen. Margarets lips were pressed so tightly theyd gone pale. She couldnt meet my eyes. Good.
“You promised,” I said calmly, rocking Oliver, who babbled happily, oblivious to the storm. “You said if the test cleared the air, youd cut out anyone still doubting me.”
James swallowed hard. “Charlotte, please. Shes my mother. She was only worried”
“Worried?” I laughed sharply, making Oliver startle. I kissed his downy head. “She poisoned you against your own wife and child. Called me a liarall because she cant stand losing control.”
Margaret stepped forward, her voice quivering with indignation. “Charlotte, dont be melodramatic. We did what any family would. We had to be certain”
“No,” I interrupted. “Good families trust each other. Good husbands dont force their wives to prove their children are theirs. You wanted proof? Youve got it. Now youll get something else.”
James stared at me, bewildered. “Charlotte, what do you mean?”
I took a deep breath, feeling Olivers heartbeat against mine. “I want all of you out. Now.”
Margaret gasped. Harold spluttered. Jamess eyes widened. “What? Charlotte, you cantthis is our home”
“No,” I said firmly. “This is Olivers home. Mine and his. And you three shattered it. You humiliated me, doubted us. You wont raise my son in a house where his mother is called a liar.”
James stood, anger replacing guilt. “Charlotte, be reasonable”
“I was reasonable,” I snapped. “When I agreed to that vile test. When I bit my tongue as your mother criticised my cooking, my family, my very existence. I was reasonable letting her into our lives at all.”
I stood, holding Oliver tighter. “But Im done being reasonable. Stay if you want. But your parents leave. Today. Or you all go.”
Margarets voice turned shrill. “James! Youre allowing this? Your own mother”
James looked at me, then at Oliver, then at the floor. For the first time in years, he seemed like a lost boy in his own home. He turned to Margaret and Harold. “Mum. Dad. Perhaps its best if you go.”
The silence shattered Margarets composure. Her face twisted with fury. Harold placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off.
“This is your wifes doing,” she spat at James. “Dont expect forgiveness.”
She turned to me, eyes sharp as glass. “Youll regret this. You think youve won, but youll regret it when he comes crawling back.”
I smiled. “Goodbye, Margaret.”
Within minutes, Harold gathered their coats, muttering apologies James couldnt answer. Margaret left without a backward glance. When the door closed, the house felt larger, emptierbut lighter.
James sank onto the sofa, staring at his hands. He looked up at me, his voice barely audible. “Charlotte Im sorry. I shouldve defended youdefended us.”
I nodded. “Yes. You shouldve.”
He reached for my hand. I let him take it brieflythen pulled away. “James, I dont know if I can forgive this. You broke my trust.”
Tears welled in his eyes. “Tell me what to do. Ill do anything.”
I glanced down at Oliver, who yawned and curled his tiny fingers around my jumper. “Start by earning it back. Be the father he deserves. Be the husband I deserveif you want that chance. And if you ever bring them near us again without my say-so, youll lose us for good. Understood?”
James nodded, shoulders sagging. “Understood.”
In the weeks that followed, things shifted. Margaret called, pleaded, ragedI ignored her. James did too. He came home early, took Oliver for walks so I could rest, cooked meals. He looked at our son as if seeing him anewbecause perhaps, in a way, he was.
Rebuilding trust isnt simple. Some nights, I lie awake wondering if Ill ever see James the same way. But every morning, when I watch him feeding Oliver toast or making him giggle, I thinkmaybe, just maybewell be alright.
Were not perfect. But were ours. And for now, thats enough.
