I never imagined the man I lovemy baby’s dadwould ever look me straight in the eye and question whether our little lad was his. Yet there I was, on our grey sofa in our flat in Manchester, cradling baby Oliver while Mark and his mum, Patricia, launched accusations like daggers.
It all started with a glance. The first time Patricia saw Oliver in the maternity ward, she frowned and whispered to Mark, He doesnt look like a Collins. I pretended not to hear, but her words cut deeper than the stitches from my Csection.
Mark tried to brush it off at first. We joked about how babies change so much, how Oliver had my nose and Marks chin. But that seed of doubt had been planted, and Patricia kept watering it with every chance she got.
Mark had blue eyes as a baby, shed say, holding Oliver up to the light. Isnt it odd his eyes are so dark?
One evening, when Oliver was three months old, Mark came home late from work. I was on the sofa, feeding him, hair a mess, exhaustion hanging over me like a heavy coat. He didnt even plant a kiss on my cheek. He just stood there, arms crossed.
We need to have a word, he said.
I already knew what was coming.
My mum and dad think we should do a DNA test. Just to clear the air.
Clear the air? I echoed, my voice hoarse with disbelief. You think Ive been unfaithful?
Mark shifted uneasily. No, Emma. Not at all. Theyre worried. I just want to put an end to itfor everyone.
My heart sank. For everyone. Not for me, not for Oliver, but for them.
Fine, I said after a long pause, holding back tears. If you want a test, youll have one. But I want something in return.
Mark frowned. What do you mean?
If I go along with this insult, you agree to let me handle whatever comes next, and youll promise right here, in front of your parents, that anyone who still doubts me after this will be cut off.
Mark hesitated. Patricia stiffened behind him, arms crossed, eyes icy.
And if I refuse?
I met his stare, feeling Olivers gentle breaths against my chest. Then you can all leave. Dont come back.
The room went dead quiet. Patricia opened her mouth to argue, but Mark stopped her with a glance. He knew I wasnt bluffing. He knew Id never cheated. Oliver was his sonhis mirror imageif only he could see past his mums poison.
Alright, Mark finally said, running a hand through his hair. Well do the test. And if it proves what you say, thats it. No more accusations.
Patricia looked like shed swallowed a lemon. This is ridiculous, she hissed. If youve got nothing to hide
Oh, Ive got nothing to hide, I snapped. But you doyour hatred, your meddling. It ends when the test is done, or youll never see your son or grandson again.
Mark winced but didnt argue.
Two days later the test was taken. A nurse swabbed Olivers tiny mouth while he whimpered in my arms. Mark did his, his face grim. That night I rocked Oliver, whispering apologies he couldnt understand.
I barely slept. Mark dozed on the sofa. I couldnt bear sharing the bed while he still doubted meand our baby.
When the results came, Mark read them first. He dropped to his knees in front of me, paper trembling. Emma Im so sorry. I never should have
Dont apologise to me, I said coldly, lifting Oliver from his cot onto 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 just the start.
Mark knelt there, clutching proof of what he should have always known. His eyes were red, but I felt nothingno warmth, no pity. Just a cold emptiness where trust once lived.
Behind him, Patricia and my fatherinlaw, Gerald, stood frozen. Patricias lips were so tight they were white. She didnt dare meet my gaze. Good.
You promised, I said calmly, rocking Oliver, who gurgled happily, oblivious to the storm. You said if the test cleared the air, youd cut out anyone still doubting me.
Mark swallowed hard. Emma, please. Shes my mother. She was just worried
Worried? I laughed sharply, making Oliver flinch. I kissed his soft hair. She poisoned you against your own wife and son. Called me a liar and a cheatall because she cant stand not controlling your life.
Patricia stepped forward, voice trembling with righteous venom. Emma, dont be dramatic. We did what any family would. We had to be sure
No, I interrupted. Normal families trust each other. Normal husbands dont make their wives prove their children are theirs. You wanted proof? Youve got it. Now youll get something else.
Mark looked confused. Emma, what do you mean?
I took a deep breath, feeling Olivers heartbeat against my chest. I want all of you gone. Now.
Patricia gasped. Gerald sputtered. Marks eyes widened. What? Emma, you cantthis is our home
No, I said firmly. This is Olivers home. Mine and his. And you three broke it. You doubted us, humiliated me. You will not raise my son in a house where his mother is called a liar.
Mark stood, anger surfacing as guilt vanished. Emma, be reasonable
I was reasonable, I snapped. When I agreed to that disgusting test. When I bit my tongue as your mother made digs about my hair, my cooking, my family. I was reasonable letting her into our lives at all.
I held Oliver tighter. But Im done being reasonable. You want to stay here? Fine. But your parents leave. Today. Or you all leave.
Patricias voice shrilled. Mark! Are you really letting her do this? Your own mother
Mark looked at me, then at Oliver, then at the floor. For the first time in years he looked like a lost boy in his own house. He turned to Patricia and Gerald. Mum. Dad. Maybe you should go.
Patricias perfect mask cracked. Her face twisted with fury and disbelief. Gerald placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.
This is your wifes doing, she hissed at Mark. Dont expect forgiveness.
She turned to me, eyes sharp as knives. Youll regret this. You think youve won, but youll regret it when he comes crawling back.
I smiled. Goodbye, Patricia.
In minutes Gerald grabbed their coats, mumbling apologies Mark couldnt answer. Patricia left without looking back. When the door shut, the flat felt bigger, emptierbut lighter.
Mark sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at his hands. He looked up at me, voice barely a whisper. Emma Im sorry. I shouldve stood up for youfor us.
I nodded. Yes. You shouldve.
He reached for my hand. I let him take it for a momentjust a momentthen pulled away. Mark, I dont know if I can forgive you. This has broken 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 sweater. Start by earning it back. Be the dad he deserves. Be the husband I deserveif you want that chance. And if you ever let them near me or Oliver again without my permission, you wont see us again. Understand?
Mark nodded, shoulders slumping. I understand.
In the weeks that followed, things changed. Patricia called, begged, threatenedI didnt answer. Mark 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 maybe, in a way, he was.
Rebuilding trust isnt easy. Some nights I lie awake wondering if Ill ever see Mark the same way. But every morning, when I see him feeding Oliver porridge, making him laugh, I think maybejust maybewell be okay.
Were not perfect. But were ours. And thats enough.
