**Diary Entry**
I never imagined the man I lovedthe father of my boywould ever stare me in the face and question whether our son was truly his. But there I was, sitting on our cream sofa, holding our little one 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. Leaning close to my husband, James, while she thought I was asleep, 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 had been sown, and Margaret watered it with suspicion every chance she got.
“James had green eyes as a baby,” shed say pointedly, holding Oliver up to the window. “Isnt it strange that his are so brown?”
One night, when Oliver was three months old, James came home late from work. I was on the sofa feeding the baby, my hair unwashed, exhaustion clinging to me like a damp coat. He didnt even kiss me hello. Just stood there, arms folded.
“We need to talk,” he said.
I already knew what was coming.
“Mum and Dad think we should do a DNA test. To put this to rest.”
“To put it 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 heart sank. *For everyone*. Not for me. Not for Oliver. For *them*.
“Fine,” I said after a long pause, fighting back 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, then you promiseright now, in front of your parentsthat if the results come back as I know they will, anyone who still doubts me will be cut off.”
James hesitated. Behind him, Margaret stiffened, arms crossed, her gaze frosty.
“And if I refuse?”
I met his eyes, feeling Olivers steady breaths against my chest. “Then you can all leave. Dont bother coming back.”
The silence was thick. Margaret opened her mouth to argue, 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 finally, running a hand through his hair. “Well do the test. And if it proves what you say, thats it. No more questions.”
Margaret looked like shed bitten into a sour apple. “This is absurd,” she hissed. “If youve nothing to hide”
“Oh, Ive nothing to hide,” I cut in. “But you doyour disdain, your endless meddling. It ends after this test. Or youll never see your son or grandson again.”
James winced but stayed quiet.
Two days later, the test was done. A nurse swabbed Olivers tiny mouth as he fussed in my arms. James did his, his expression 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 stand having him in our bed while he doubted meand our baby.
When the results arrived, James read them first. He dropped to his knees before me, the paper shaking in his hands. “Charlotte Im so sorry. I never should have”
“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 youll never get back.”
But my fight wasnt over. The test was only the beginning.
James knelt there, still clutching the proof of what he shouldve known all along. His eyes were red, but I felt nothingno warmth, no pity. Just a hollow ache where trust used to live.
Behind him, Margaret and my father-in-law, Geoffrey, stood frozen. Margarets lips were pressed so tight theyd gone pale. She didnt dare meet my gaze. *Good*.
“You promised,” I said calmly, rocking Oliver, who cooed happily, oblivious to the storm. “You said if the test settled things, 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 hair. “She poisoned you against your own wife and son. Called me a liarall because she cant stand not controlling your life.”
Margaret stepped forward, her voice trembling with indignation. “Charlotte, dont be dramatic. We did what any family would. We had to be certain”
“No,” I interrupted. “Decent families trust each other. Decent husbands dont make their wives prove their children are theirs. You wanted proof? Youve got it. Now youll get something else.”
James stared at me, baffled. “Charlotte, what do you mean?”
I took a deep breath, feeling Olivers heartbeat against my chest. “I want all of you gone. Now.”
Margaret gasped. Geoffrey 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 doubted us, humiliated me. You wont raise my son in a house where his mothers called a liar.”
James stood, anger flaring as guilt faded. “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 hair, my cooking, my family. I was reasonable letting her into our lives at all.”
I stood, holding Oliver tighter. “But Im done being reasonable. You want to stay? Fine. But your parents leave. Today. Or you all go.”
Margarets voice turned shrill. “James! Are you really letting her do 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 house. He turned to Margaret and Geoffrey. “Mum. Dad. Maybe you should go.”
The silence shattered Margarets composure. Her face twisted with rage and disbelief. Geoffrey 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 broken glass. “Youll regret this. You think youve won, but youll regret it when he comes crawling back.”
I smiled. “Goodbye, Margaret.”
Within minutes, Geoffrey gathered their coats, mumbling apologies James couldnt answer. Margaret left without a backward glance. When the door shut, the house felt larger, emptierbut lighter.
James sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at his hands. He looked up at me, his voice barely a whisper. “Charlotte Im sorry. I shouldve defended youdefended *us*.”
I nodded. “Yes. You should have.”
He reached for my hand. I let him take it for a momentjust a momentthen pulled away. “James, I dont know if I can forgive you. This broke my trust in them *and* in you.”
Tears filled his eyes. “Tell me what to do. Ill do anything.”
I looked 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 let them near me or Oliver again without my say-so, you wont see us again. Understood?”
James nodded, shoulders sagging. “Understood.”
In the weeks that followed, things changed. Margaret called, pleaded, threatenedI didnt answer. James didnt either. He came home early every night, took Oliver for walks so I could rest, cooked dinner. He looked at our son like he was seeing him for the first timebecause 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 breakfast, making him laugh, I think maybe*just maybe*well be alright.
Were not perfect. But were ours. And for now, thats enough.
