So, I did a DNA test and honestly, I wish I hadnt.
Thing is, I ended up getting married because my girlfriend told me she was expecting. After the wedding, I brought my wife to live with my parentsback then, we didnt really have the means to get our own place. Time went on and I became the dad of a wonderful little boy. Before long, we decided to take out a mortgage so we could finally get our own house and start building a life together.
A while after that, my wife told me she was pregnant again, and soon our little princess, Emily, was born. The kids grew up in the blink of an eye, you know how it goes. But as the years passed, I couldnt help noticing that they didnt look a thing like me. Come to think of it, they werent much like my wife eitherboth of them ended up with ginger hair and freckles. No one in our families looked anything like that! Where did it come from?
Eventually, I got it into my head to do a paternity test. Probably not my finest moment, but I just couldnt shake the need to know for sure. I wanted to be absolutely certain these kids were mine, no matter how strange it sounded.
So, I did the test, and then had to agonisingly wait two whole weeks for the results. The moment I got the call, I shot out the door and headed straight to the lab. Thank goodness, the results said I was their dad. Relieved, I went home and tucked the paperwork away in a drawer so my wife wouldnt find it. Why I didnt just bin them right then and there, I have no idea. I ended up paying dearly for that mistake.
Just a few days later, my wife chucked the documents at me, absolutely fuming. The row she kicked off nearly brought the roof down. I get why she was so upset, but honestly, we could have sorted it out without all the fireworks. She just couldnt find it in herself to forgive me. Since then, Ive been on my own. Its been five years now, and she still wont let me see the children.
All I can think is that my daft, nagging curiosity ended up costing me everything that matteredmy family. I truly hope that one day shell be able to forgive meNow, each time I see a kid with ginger hair out on the street, I cant help but smile, even as a dull ache settles in my chest. Maybe one day, Emily or her brother will decide they want to know their old man, and maybe they wont. Life doesnt always give neat answers, does it? But Ive made peace with it, slowly, painfully, the way you sand down a splinter you cant pull out.
Turns out, families arent built from strands of DNA or freckles or hair color. Theyre made in a thousand tiny momentsbedtime stories, scraped knees, whispered goodnightsthat might be gone but will always belong to me, tucked safe in memory. My mistake cost me more than I ever imagined, but I like to think that as long as I hold onto the love I felt, somewhere out there, the best parts of me are living on in two kids with ginger hair who once made me the luckiest man in the world.
