He refused to marry the pregnant girl. His mother stood by him, but his father defended the unborn child.
“Dad, I’ve got news. The neighbour, Sophie… she’s pregnant. It’s mine,” said Edward the moment he stepped inside.
Arthur, his father, paused for a second before speaking calmly.
“Well, marry her then.”
“Are you joking? I’m still young. I’m not ready for a family, and it’s not like we were even dating…”
“Really?” His father scoffed. “So you were man enough to chase after a girl, but when it comes to facing the consequences, suddenly you’re a child. Right.” Without another word, he called out loudly for his wife. “Margaret! Come here!”
Margaret walked into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“What’s happened?”
“Listen. Our son’s got a girl pregnant and won’t marry her. Sophie, the neighbour’s daughter. He’s her baby’s father, and now he’s backing out.”
Margaret didn’t even blink. Her expression hardened.
“Good. Why should he bring home the first girl who throws herself at him? These girls are clever—they find a bloke with money, trap him, and then demand marriage. And who’s to say it’s even his? She should get a test. And anyway, Edward’s too young to be pressured. He’s a man—it’s hard for him to resist. But we’re not responsible for someone else’s child.”
Arthur let out a heavy sigh and spoke quietly.
“And what if it really is his?”
“So what if it is? Are we obliged to take on that burden? Tell her to get the test done first, then we’ll see.”
She turned and marched back into the kitchen, leaving Arthur alone with his son.
“You know, I was young once too,” he began. “Loved one woman, married another. Not for love—for responsibility. Because being a man isn’t just about passion—it’s about choices and consequences. Your mother was pregnant then. I didn’t know if I could be with her, but I knew one thing—the baby wasn’t to blame. My blood, my conscience. And you know what, Edward? No matter what, I’ve never once regretted staying.”
Three months later. The DNA test came back clear: 99.9% probability Edward was the father.
“So what?” Margaret snapped when Arthur laid the result on the table. “Fine, he’s the father. That doesn’t mean Sophie’s moving into this house. She won’t set foot here. That’s final!”
Edward sat with his eyes downcast. His face said it all—he’d chosen his mother’s side. His fists clenched, but he stayed silent.
Arthur slowly stood from the table.
“Since the two of you have made your choice, now you’ll hear mine.”
His voice was low, but steel ran through it.
“As long as I’m alive, my grandchild will never want for anything. I’ll buy land, build a house, and my grandchild will inherit everything I’ve worked for. But the two of you? You’ll get nothing more from me. I want no part in this disgrace. Edward, as of today, you’re no son of mine. Everything I have now belongs to that child. Not a single penny goes to you.”
Margaret flared up.
“Have you lost your mind? You’d cut off your own son?”
Arthur didn’t answer. He simply turned and walked out, ignoring the shouts behind him. Edward stood frozen in the silence, unable to believe what he’d just heard. But he knew one thing—when Arthur gave his word, he meant it.
