**Diary Entry**
*17th June*
I never imagined I’d write this, but life has a way of revealing people’s true colours. Earlier today, my son, Thomas, walked into the house looking like he’d seen a ghost.
“Dad, I’ve got news,” he said, shifting uneasily. “Emily from down the lane—she’s pregnant. It’s mine.”
I froze for a moment before answering calmly, “Well, you’d best marry her, then.”
Thomas scoffed. “What? I’m too young for that! Besides, we barely even dated properly.”
“Really?” I gave him a hard look. “So you were man enough to chase after a girl, but not to own up to the consequences? That’s rich.” Without another word, I called for my wife. “Margaret, come here a moment.”
Margaret walked in, drying her hands on her apron. “What’s all this about?”
“Our boy’s got a girl pregnant,” I said flatly. “Emily, the neighbour’s daughter. And now he’s trying to weasel out of it.”
Margaret didn’t even blink. Her expression turned icy. “Good. Why should he shackle himself to the first girl who comes along? These days, girls are crafty—they’ll latch onto a man with prospects and trap him. He should demand a paternity test first. And why pressure Thomas? He’s still young. It’s only natural he’d struggle to resist—he’s only human. But we’re not responsible for someone else’s mistakes.”
I let out a slow breath. “And if it really is his child?”
“And if it is? That doesn’t mean we have to pick up the pieces. Tell her to get the test done, and we’ll see.”
With that, she marched back to the kitchen, leaving Thomas and me alone.
“Listen, son,” I began, keeping my voice low. “I was young once too. I loved one girl but married another—not for love, but because it was the right thing to do. Your mother was pregnant, and I didn’t know if I could build a life with her, but I knew one thing—the child wasn’t to blame. My blood, my responsibility. And you know what? I’ve never regretted staying.”
Three months later, the DNA test came back: 99.9% certainty. Thomas was the father.
Margaret scoffed as I laid the results on the table. “So what if he’s the father? That doesn’t mean Emily’s moving in here. She’s not setting foot in this house. That’s final.”
Thomas sat there, knuckles white, refusing to meet my eyes. He’d made his choice—siding with his mother.
I stood slowly, my voice quiet but firm. “Since the two of you have made *your* decision, now hear mine.”
“I’ll make sure my grandchild wants for nothing while I’m alive. I’ll buy land, build a house, and everything I’ve worked for—*everything*—will go to that child. But as for the pair of you? Don’t expect another penny from me. I won’t be part of this disgrace. Thomas, as far as I’m concerned, you’re no longer my son.”
Margaret exploded. “Have you lost your mind? You’d cut off your own child over this?!”
I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked out, ignoring the shouts behind me. Thomas stood there, stunned, but he knows me—when I say something, I mean it.
*Personal Lesson:* A man isn’t measured by his passions, but by his principles. Some lines, once crossed, can’t be uncrossed. And sometimes, doing right costs everything.
