I Did a DNA Test and Instantly Regretted It I Had to Marry My Girlfriend After Finding Out She Was Pregnant. After Our Wedding, We Moved in With My Parents Because We Couldn’t Afford Our Own Place. Time Went By and I Became the Dad of a Wonderful Little Boy. Soon After, We Decided to Get a Mortgage and Start Our Own Family Home. After a While, My Wife Told Me She Was Pregnant Again, and That’s How Our Princess Anna Was Born. The Kids Grew Up Quickly, and Each Year I Noticed They Didn’t Look Like Me at All—not even a little. In Fact, Neither My Son nor My Daughter Looked Like Their Mum Either. Both Were Ginger with Freckles—Where Did That Come From in Our Family? The Thought Crossed My Mind to Take a Paternity Test. Maybe It Wasn’t the Brightest Idea, But I Needed to Be Sure the Kids Were Mine. I Took the Test. I Had to Wait Two Weeks for the Results. As Soon As They Called, I Rushed to the Lab. Thank God—It Turned Out I Was Their Dad. I Went Home and Hid the Documents So My Wife Wouldn’t Find Them. But Why Didn’t I Just Throw Them Away? I Paid for That Mistake. Just a Few Days Later, My Wife Threw Those Papers in My Face. She Caused Such an Uproar the Whole House Trembled. I Understand Why, But Surely There Was a More Peaceful Way to Handle It. She Couldn’t Forgive Me, and Now I’m Alone. Five Years Have Passed Since That Day, and She Still Won’t Let Me See the Kids. That’s How Simple Curiosity Stole the Most Precious Thing I Had—My Family. I Hope One Day She Can Forgive Me…

I remember those days as if they happened in another life. Back then, when I learned my sweetheart was expecting, there was no questionwe married, as was proper. After the wedding, I brought my new wife home to my parents house in Surrey. In those days, it simply wasnt possible for us to strike out on our own at once. Time marched on and soon I became father to a splendid little boy. It wasnt long before we decided to take out a mortgage and find a place of our own, yearning to carve out an independent life together.

Not too much later, my wife told me she was expecting again, and before long our darling daughter, Beatrice, was born. The children grew with astonishing speed, outgrowing shoes and jackets before I could keep up. Yet, year by year, a nagging doubt began to settle in: neither of the children looked like me. Nor, for that matter, were they much like my wife. Both had flaming red hair and frecklesa look unfamiliar in either of our families. Where had it come from?

The thought crossed my mind to seek the truth, so I decided to have a paternity test done. It may not have been an honourable idea, but at the time, it was the only way I knew how to quiet my worries. I simply needed to know for certain that I was raising my own.

I took the test and waited a fortnight in anxious suspense. The moment I received the call, I rushed to the laboratory in London. Relief washed over methank heavens, the children truly were mine. I returned home and, foolishly, tucked the documents away rather than discarding them. Why didnt I just throw them out? That blunder cost me dearly.

Days later, my wife stormed into the sitting room and flung the papers at me. The commotion she raised could have shaken the rafters loose. Looking back, I understand her hurt, though I wish we could have talked it through quietly. She simply could not find forgiveness in her heart, and now I find myself alone. Five years have slipped by since that terrible daymy wife will not allow me to see the children, not even once.

And so, what began as simple curiosity stole away all that I cherishedmy family. I can only hope that perhaps, one day, shell find it in her to forgive me.