I Took a DNA Test and Confirmed My Suspicions

Auntie Dot, I have nowhere else to go, she sobbed, her voice trembling like a thin glass in a storm. Forgive me, I wont trouble you again.

She never explained where she had been or what she had done, but her eyes were as hollow as a vacant lot after a midnight raid. The family, though Arthur was reluctant, took her back. After all, she was the mother of little Sophie, a wandering orphan.

Arthur had always seemed a shade out of step with the worldquiet, bookbound, never a mischiefmaker. As a child his grandmother would urge, Arthur, run about with the other boys in the garden. He would mutter, Mum, leave him be. Let him read; better than ending up like Vicky from the next street, who was already on the police register at twelve. His mother, Margaret, defended him fiercely.

He learned early that silence was the safest path through the thickets of family squabbles. His father was a name that existed only on paper. So he sank deeper into his love of biology, barely noticing the world around him, and certainly not the girls.

Son, do you ever intend to marry? To give me grandchildren? Margaret demanded when he turned twentysix.

Mother, everything in its season, Arthur waved her off. His research institute was a vortex of excitement; everyone there was obsessed with his latest geneediting project, leaving no room for romance.

Margaret sighed heavily. What a handsome, clever lad you are, though a bit reclusive. Still, a year later Arthur walked home with a woman named Blythe, her hair a chaotic tangle of black and indigo, a tiny ring glinting in her nose, a tattoo curling around her wrist.

Meet her, Mum, my fiancée. The wedding is in a month, he announced, his tone as flat as a laboratory bench.

Mmh, very well. Come in, lets be introduced. Margarets voice was a soft invitation, though her eyes lingered on Blythes gaunt frame and unconventional style. Blythe was twentythree, unemployed, and had first met Arthur in a café where he celebrated the completion of his project while she waited tables.

Margaret soon found herself pitying Blythes tangled pastparents lost to a car crash, a distant relative squatting in their flat, endless nights of hunger and wandering. A strange affection blossomed. Blythe moved in, and the household settled into a quiet, almost choreographed harmony. No clashing kitchen queens, no battles over spoons.

Blythe cared little for housekeeping but helped Margaret whenever asked, obedient as a shadow. Arthur, who usually cared little for meals or attire, found Margaret fussing over him, feeding him, dressing him. For six months this gentle idyll held.

Then Blythe vanished. Nothing was stolen; her few belongings stayed where they fell. Her phone flickered offline, and Arthur knew hardly anyone she called. Margaret watched her sons anxiety swellhe missed work for two days, scouring every acquaintance for a trace. They called hospitals, morgues, and finally Arthur filed a police report. It was as if Blythe had dissolved into thin air.

A month later she stepped through the doorway, cheeks flushed, voice shy. Im sorry, Arthur, she whispered, and Auntie Dot, forgive me too. I needed a solitary spell.

Arthur kissed her fervently; Margaret stared, searching for any sign of hidden bruises or secrets. Nothing seemed amiss; perhaps she had truly needed rest. The relief was palpableArthur was happy again.

Two weeks after that, Blythe announced she was pregnant. Margarets joy outshone even her sons, who was now lost again in his experiments. The women grew close; Blythe followed Margarets counsel, ate well, walked, and visited doctors religiously. Yet at term the baby was kept in a neonatal unit, born a few weeks early. The infant, a tiny girl under three kilograms, fought a brief illness in hospital, then was released. By three months, Sophienamed after the older childwas indistinguishable from any other toddler.

Why didnt Margaret raise the baby? Two weeks after birth Blythe disappeared again, leaving nothing but a birth certificate. The passport vanished with her, but not a single toy or sweater was missing.

This time Margaret and Arthur did not launch a frantic search. She might return; Arthurs lab demanded his attention; and Margaret now had a granddaughter to cherish. They officially registered maternity leave for Margaret, the grandparent, and the allowance arriveda tidy sum of pounds that eased the household.

Mother, you look decades younger, Arthur remarked, noticing the glow in her cheeks.

Because Im a mother again, she laughed.

She never complained about Blythe, keeping the conversation away from nosy neighbours, simply stating Blythe had left. No police report was filed this round; the runaway daughter sent a vague, frantic call about a new crisis, which Margaret dismissedshe had no patience for Blythes melodrama.

Four years passed without a whisper of Blythe, until she reappeared, the same tearful plea as before. The family, though Arthurs patience waned, welcomed her back. She was still Sophies mother, a wandering orphan, though Sophie now called Margaret Mum instead of Grandma.

Within a month Blythe declared she was pregnant again.

No! Arthur snapped. We dont need another strangers child here!

Son, what stranger? Blythe retorted.

Mother, were not husband and wife any longer! Arthur cut in. Im still planning to marry, and this chaos must end.

Margaret, immersed in Sophies world, remained oblivious to the marital turmoil. She had no clue about Arthurs love life, though she never abandoned her son.

Blythe, eyes brimming, begged to stay until the birth. Arthur reluctantly agreed, with Margarets reluctant blessingshe feared losing Sophie if Blythe truly left.

How am I to divorce her now? Arthur wondered, bewildered. Why didnt I think of this sooner?

Ill try to persuade Blythe to part ways, Margaret promised, silently hoping the split would never materialise.

Then Arthur, halfin jest, mused, What if Sophie isnt my blood? He suggested a DNA test.

Margaret gasped as if a phantom had brushed her cheekperhaps Arthurs new lover, Mabel, had slipped the child into his life? She scolded him sharply, Youre a biologist, you should have thought of this! Dont say my granddaughter isnt my own! I have no one closer to her than she is to me! Tears streamed down her face.

Arthur stared at her, the lab coat suddenly heavy, and said nothing more.

Blythe, now six months pregnant, lay on a hospital bed, her voice trembling. I wasnt sure, she whispered, but I know Ill never find Sophies father.

Im warning you, Arthur growled, I will not be the father of anothers child! He followed throughSophie was removed from his legal parenthood. Meanwhile Margaret, swift as ever, applied for full guardianship, which Blythe accepted, agreeing to a divorce.

In the end Blythe left her second daughter in the hospital, vanished once more, leaving the paperwork behind. This time the orphanage took the child, easing Margarets battle for custody.

Arthur married Mabel and moved out, speaking to his mother only on rare occasions. The house, once a dreamscape of looping returns and disappearances, settled into a quiet rhythm, haunted still by the echo of Auntie Dots desperate pleas and the fleeting silhouettes of a daughter who drifted in and out like mist over the Thames.