**Diary Entry**
I never thought I’d be writing this, but life has a way of forcing your hand. My son, William, came home today with news that shook the house. Barely through the door, he blurted it out:
“Dad, I’ve got something to tell you. Emily next door—she’s pregnant. It’s mine.”
My father, Charles, went still for a moment, then said calmly, “Well, marry her then.”
William scoffed. “Are you mad? I’m too young to settle down. We barely even dated.”
“Really?” Charles raised an eyebrow. “You were man enough chasing after her, but when it comes to facing the consequences, suddenly you’re a boy again?” He didn’t bother waiting for a reply, just called out sharply, “Margaret! Come here a moment.”
My wife walked into the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron. “What’s happened?”
“Our son’s got a girl pregnant—Emily from next door—and now he’s dodging responsibility.”
Margaret didn’t even blink. Her face went cold. “Good. Why should we bring just anyone into this house? Girls these days are clever—they find a man with prospects, trap him, then demand marriage. Who’s to say it’s even his? He should demand a DNA test. And don’t pressure William—he’s young. He couldn’t help himself, but that doesn’t mean we have to raise someone else’s child.”
Charles exhaled slowly. “And if it really is his?”
“Then what? Are we obligated to clean up his mess? Let her take the test. We’ll see.” With that, she turned and walked off.
Left alone with William, Charles spoke quietly. “I was young once, too. Loved one woman, married another—not for love, but duty. A man isn’t just about passion—it’s about choices and consequences. Your mother was pregnant. I didn’t know if I could stay with her, but I knew the child wasn’t at fault. My blood, my conscience. And I’ve never regretted it, not once.”
Three months later, the DNA results came back clear—99.9% certainty William was the father.
Margaret barely glanced at the paper. “So what? Just because it’s his doesn’t mean Emily’s setting foot in this house. I won’t have it.”
William sat stiffly, avoiding his father’s eyes. His clenched fists said it all—he’d chosen his mother’s side.
Charles stood slowly, his voice quiet but firm. “Since you’ve made your choice, now hear mine. As long as I live, my grandchild will want for nothing. I’ll buy land, build a home—everything I’ve earned goes to that child. But as for the two of you? Forget any help from me. I refuse to be part of this disgrace. William, from today, you’re no son of mine.”
Margaret erupted. “Have you lost your mind? Disinheriting your own son?!”
Charles didn’t answer. He just walked out, deaf to the shouting. William stood there, stunned, knowing his father never made empty threats.
**Lesson learned:** A man’s word is his bond—especially when it comes to family. And sometimes, doing the right thing means standing alone.
