Alright, let’s do the DNA test,” I smiled at my mother-in-law. “But let’s make sure your husband checks his paternity too…

28 August

Alright, lets do a DNA test, I said with a smile to my motherinlaw, Margaret. And perhaps you could ask your husband to confirm his paternity as well.

The words hung in the hallway of the flat wed just moved into after my maternity leave. I stood there, a bag of baby supplies in each hand, wondering if she had truly chosen this moment to launch her accusations.

My dear, enough, my fatherinlaw, Edward, intervened gently, leading Margaret to another room while casting me a look of sympathy. I was left alone with little Arthur, his pale hair and sapphire eyes a mirror of my own grandfathers youthful face. I made a mental note to ask my mother for old photographs for comparison.

A few minutes later my mothers voice rose from the balcony, the phone pressed to her ear. It was clear she was speaking with my late fathers brother.

Youve got a grandson, and youre not even there! she snapped, then slammed the receiver down. Seeing me, she sighed.

Sorry, Kate, Ive ruined your day. I hoped your dad would turn up, but even a grandson cant pry him away from his bottle.

Im fine, Mum, I whispered, pulling her into an embrace. Its not your fault.

That evening the family gathered around a modest festive dinner. Margaret was barely able to conceal her displeasure, while Edward and my husband, Max, tried to keep the mood light. When the guests finally left, Max came over and clasped my shoulders.

Thank you for giving me a son, he said, his voice low.

Time rushed forward: first steps, first words, sleepless nights. We bought our own flat, swapped the old Austin for a newer Honda, and Arthur started nursery.

Im nervous about school, I confessed one night over tea. The parent meetings, the endless chats

Youll manage, Max reassured, his hand warm around my own.

The calm was shattered a few weeks later at our country cottage. Margarets behavior grew stranger; she avoided Arthur, eyeing him with a cold suspicion.

Look at him, she hissed while we were washing dishes. Redhaired, freckles Are you sure hes Maxs child?

Are you certain Edward is your sons father? I replied, my tone sharp.

She went rigid, her face reddening.

How dare you? she shrieked.

I stormed out, gathering my things and, with Arthur in my arms, headed home.

The next day we sent the DNA kit off. The results were unsurprisingArthur was indeed Maxs son. I tucked the report into my purse without telling anyone.

Margaret, however, would not be silenced. At Edwards birthday she sneered, Your grandson looks exactly like his greatgrandmother. What about us? She gestured disdainfully at Arthur. I slipped the printed result into her hand and pressed it to her face.

Read this. Your doubts are mistaken. Perhaps youd better sort out the skeletons in your own wardrobe.

Her complexion turned ashen.

A few days later Max arrived home, his expression shattered.

Kate he sank to the floor, clutching his head. We ran the test with my dad. He isnt my father.

I held him, words failing me.

Later that week Edward came over.

Im filing for divorce from Margaret, he declared firmly. But Max, youll always be my son. Blood doesnt matter.

Max broke down, hugging Edward tightly.

Thus our little family endured the blow. Margaret was left alone, while we, oddly enough, grew stronger. The irony was bitter: had it not been for her spite, the truth might have stayed hidden forever.

Six months have passed since Edward and Margarets split. Life has settled: Max is moving away from his mothers meddling, Arthur spends weekends laughing with his grandfather and father, and I no longer jump at every ring of the telephone.

One evening, while drying the last dish, an unfamiliar number flashed on the screen.

Kate? a hoarse male voice asked uncertainly. Its an old schoolmate.

My spoon clanged against the sink.

Sasha? I hadnt seen him in ten years, not since we both moved to the Midlands.

We need to meet. Its important.

What about? I pressed.

Its about your motherinlaw.

We met at a tiny café on a quiet street.

Shes been looking for me, Sasha said, swirling his mineral water. She claimed Arthur was my son because hes as redhaired as I am, and she even offered money.

Youre kidding.

He flushed. She was convinced there was something between us.

Good heavens, shes unwell, I shouted, the words spilling over the hum of the café. She truly believes I gave birth to your child?

Sasha shook his head. Hed once been infatuated with me and had taken my marriage hard, even turning to drink.

I refused the tests, he said. I told her it was nonsenseI cant help that child. And even if I still cared for you, Id never tear your family apart.

My hands trembled. My motherinlaw had not merely suspected; she was weaving a poisonous web to humiliate me.

Back home I recounted everything to Max. He went pale.

So she lied to my father and now shes trying to destroy our family too?

The following day Edward burst in, slamming the door.

Margaret has sued for half the cottage!

What on earth gives her that right? Max demanded.

She says she has no income, a meagre pension, and wants to sell the place.

That night the phone rang again. It was Margaret, her voice thin with hatred.

Happy for you? she sneered. Youve ruined my family, now youre finishing it off. Youre the one whos ruined everything, you wretched girl!

Youve lied to my husband! Youve turned your back on your grandson! I shouted back.

Arthur will never be my grandson, Margaret hissed, and hung up.

A week later a letter arrived from her solicitor, demanding a court order to bar Edward from seeing Arthur, claiming the boy was not a blood relative.

This is revenge, Max whispered, clutching the papers. Shes lost her mind.

Edward simply smiled.

Let her try, he replied.

The judge dismissed every one of her demands, even warning her about the consequences of defamation.

On the day of the final ruling Edward brought out an old photograph: a chuckling Max perched on his shoulders as a child, both beaming.

This is what family looks like, he said softly. Its not about blood or surnames.

Arthur bolted over, wrapping his arms around Edwards waist.

Youre the best, Granddad! he shouted.

Margaret sat alone on a park bench later, her eyes vacant. When we passed by, Arthur waved cheerfully, oblivious to the past. She turned away without a word.

Do you feel sorry for her? Max asked.

No, I answered honestly. Its a pity for the people shes hurt.

We kept walking, back to Edwards garden, where he gently pushed Arthur on the swing.

Our true family, at last, felt whole.