З життя
I Took a DNA Test and Lived to Regret It: How Doubt Cost Me My Marriage, My Family, and My Future with My Children
I did a DNA test and I regretted it
I ended up marrying my girlfriend when I found out she was expecting a child. After the wedding, I brought my wife back to live with my mum and dad because, at that time, we simply couldnt afford to get our own place. The years went by, and soon enough I became the proud father of a wonderful little boy. Eventually, my wife and I decided to take out a mortgage so we could have a home of our own.
After some time, my wife announced she was pregnant again. Thats how our little princess Emily came into the world. Both children grew up quickly, and with every passing year, I noticed they looked nothing like me. Even our personalities didnt match up. Oddly enough, neither my son nor my daughter looked anything like my wife, either. They both had auburn hair and faces covered in freckles nothing like anyone in our families. Where had that come from?
The thought crossed my mind to get a paternity test. I know, it probably wasnt my best idea, but it seemed the only way to be sure that I was raising my own children.
I went ahead and had the test done. It took two weeks to get the results. As soon as I received the call, I rushed down to the lab. Thankfully, the results confirmed I was their father. I came back home and hid the paperwork so my wife wouldnt stumble across it. But why didnt I just throw it out there and then? That was my first mistake, and I was about to pay for it.
A few days later, my wife confronted me and threw the documents in my face. She completely lost her temper Im sure the neighbours must have heard her shouting from down the road. I do see why she was upset, but I wish we could have sorted it in a calmer way. She just couldnt forgive me, and now I find myself living alone. Its been five years since that day, and my wife still wont let me see the kids.
Thats how a moment of doubt took from me the thing I loved most my family. I can only hope that one day, my wife will find it in her heart to forgive me, but until then, I live with the lesson: sometimes, curiosity comes at too high a price.
A Sold Friend: Grandad’s Tale And He Understood Me! It Was No Fun – I Realized What a Foolish Idea It Was. I Sold Him. He Thought It Was a Game, Until He Realized I’d Truly Sold Him. Times, After All, Are Different for Everyone. For Some, All-Inclusive Isn’t All That Generous, While Others Just Dream of Fresh Bread and Sausage. That’s how we lived – each in our own way, with all sorts of ups and downs. I was little back then. My uncle – Uncle George – gave me a shepherd puppy, and I was over the moon. The pup bonded with me, understood me at a glance, looked into my eyes and waited, waited for my signal. “Lie down,” I would say after a pause, and he would lie, gazing up at me loyally as though ready to die for me. “Serve,” I commanded, and the puppy would clamber up on chubby legs and freeze, swallowing anxiously, waiting for a reward – a tasty treat. But I had nothing to spoil him with. We were barely managing ourselves. Times were tough. My uncle, Uncle George, my mum’s brother who had given me the puppy, once said to me: “Don’t be upset, lad. Look how loyal he is! Sell him, then call for him, and he’ll run back to you. No one will see. You’ll have some money for a treat for you and your mum, and for him too. Trust me, I’m telling you something useful.” The idea sounded good to me. I didn’t realize then how wrong it was – an adult suggested it, and besides, it’d just be a joke, and I could get a treat. I whispered into Loyal’s warm, furry ear that I’d give him away, then call him back, so he should come to me and escape from strangers. And he understood me! He barked, as if to agree. The next day, I put on his lead and walked him to the station. Everyone sold things there – flowers, cucumbers, apples. The crowd poured off the train, and people began buying, haggling. I stepped forward a little, pulling my dog closer. But no one approached. Almost everyone had gone when a man with a stern face came over. “You there, lad, waiting for someone, or maybe you want to sell your dog? Good, strong pup – I’ll take him,” and he pressed some money into my palm. I handed him the lead. Loyal looked around and sneezed happily. “Go on, Loyal, go with him, my friend,” I whispered, “I’ll call you, come to me.” And he went off with the man. Hiding, I watched where they went. That evening, I brought home bread, sausage, and sweets. Mum asked sternly: “Did you steal this from someone?” “No, Mum, I helped carry some things at the station, and they paid me.” “Well done, son. Now eat and let’s go to bed – I’m exhausted.” She didn’t even ask about Loyal; she didn’t care. Uncle George came by in the morning. I was getting ready for school, but all I wanted was to go call for Loyal. “So,” he chuckled, “sold your friend?” and ruffled my hair. I pulled away, refusing to answer. I hadn’t slept all night, and couldn’t eat my bread and sausage for the lump in my throat. It wasn’t fun – I realized what a stupid idea it had been. No wonder Mum never liked Uncle George. “He’s daft, don’t listen to him,” she’d always say. I grabbed my schoolbag and dashed from the house. It was three blocks to that man’s house, and I ran the whole way. Loyal sat behind a tall fence, tied up with a thick rope. I called him, but he looked at me sadly, head on his paws, tail wagging, trying to bark though his voice broke. I’d sold him. He thought it was a game, but then realized I had truly sold him. The owner came out, scolded Loyal, and he tucked in his tail. I knew then it was hopeless. That evening I worked at the station carrying bags. They paid little, but it was enough. Scared, I went to the gate and knocked. The man opened the door. “Oh, it’s you again. What do you want?” “Sir, I changed my mind,” I stammered, handing him the money he’d given me for Loyal. He squinted at me, took the money, and untied Loyal. “Here, lad. Take him. He’s been pining, not cut out for a guard dog – but mind, he may never forgive you.” Loyal looked at me mournfully. Our game had become a trial for us both. Then he walked over, licked my hand and pressed his nose into my stomach. Years have passed since then, but I know now: you never sell a friend, not even as a joke. And Mum was so glad: “I was exhausted yesterday, then remembered – where’s our dog? I’m used to that boy, he’s part of the family, our Loyal!” After that, Uncle George hardly ever visited. We didn’t find his jokes funny anymore.
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