Today, I faced a moment I never expected. My son, Edward, came home with news that shook me to my core.
“Dad, I have something to tell you,” he said as soon as he stepped inside. “Our neighbour, Emily… she’s pregnant. It’s mine.”
I—Richard—paused for just a second before responding calmly, “Well, you’d best marry her then.”
“Are you serious?” Edward scoffed. “I’m too young to settle down. We barely even dated!”
“Oh really?” I couldn’t help but shake my head. “So you were man enough to chase after a girl, but when it comes to facing the consequences, suddenly you’re a child? How convenient.” Without waiting for a reply, I called out sharply, “Margaret! Come here a moment.”
Margaret walked into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “What’s all this?”
“Listen to this. Our son’s got the neighbour’s daughter, Emily, pregnant, and now he wants to duck responsibility. Says he won’t marry her.”
Margaret didn’t even flinch. Her face turned cold. “Good. Why should he rush into marriage with some girl he barely knows? These days, young women are clever—they’ll latch onto the first well-off man and trap him with a baby. He should demand a DNA test. And honestly, Richard, don’t pressure him. He’s young. A man has needs. We’re not obligated to raise someone else’s child.”
I sighed deeply and said quietly, “And what if it really is his?”
“So what if it is?” she shot back. “Does that mean we have to take responsibility? Tell her to get the test. We’ll know for sure.” With that, she turned back to the kitchen, leaving me alone with Edward.
I looked at my son. “I was young once too,” I began. “Loved one girl, married another. Not for love—for duty. Because being a man isn’t just about passion. It’s about facing what you’ve done. Your mother was pregnant. I didn’t know if I could ever love her, but I knew one thing—the child wasn’t to blame. My blood. My conscience. And for all the struggles, Edward, I’ve never once regretted staying.”
Three months later, the DNA test came back clear: 99.9% probability that Edward was the father.
Margaret barely glanced at the paper I set before her. “So? That doesn’t mean Emily’s setting foot in this house. She won’t. And that’s final.”
Edward sat still, avoiding my gaze. His silence spoke volumes—he’d chosen her side. His fists clenched, but he said nothing.
Slowly, I stood from the table. “Since the two of you have made your decision, now hear mine.” My voice was quiet but firm. “As long as I live, my grandchild will never want for anything. I’ll buy land. I’ll build a home. Everything I’ve worked for—it goes to that child. And as for you two? Don’t expect another penny from me. I refuse to be part of this disgrace. Edward, from today, you’re no longer my son. What’s mine belongs to the child now. Not a single pound will go to you.”
Margaret turned furious. “Have you lost your mind? You’d disinherit your own son?!”
I didn’t answer. I just walked away, ignoring her shouts. Edward stood there, stunned, as if he couldn’t believe I’d actually say it. But he knew—when I give my word, I mean it.
