“Hes Not My Son”
“Hes not my child,” the millionaire declared coldly, his voice echoing through the marble foyer. “Pack your things and leave. Both of you.” He pointed to the door. His wife clutched the baby to her chest, eyes brimming with tears. If only he knew
Outside, the storm raged as violently as the one inside the house. Eleanor stood frozen, her knuckles white as she held little Thomas. Her husband, Edward Whitmore, billionaire tycoon and head of the Whitmore family, glared at her with a fury she had never seen in their ten years of marriage.
“Edward, please,” Eleanor whispered, her voice trembling. “You dont understand what youre saying.”
“I understand perfectly,” he snapped. “That boy isnt mine. I took a DNA test last week. The results were clear.”
The accusation cut deeper than any physical blow. Eleanors knees nearly buckled.
“You took a test without telling me?”
“I had to. He doesnt look like me, doesnt act like me. And I couldnt ignore the rumours any longer.”
“Rumours? Edward, hes a baby! And he is your son! I swear on everything holy.”
But Edward had made up his mind.
“Your things will be sent to your fathers house. Dont come back. Ever.”
For a moment, Eleanor waited, hoping this was just another one of his impulsive moodsthe kind that faded by morning. But the ice in his voice left no room for doubt. She turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the marble as thunder roared above the mansion.
Eleanor had grown up modestly but entered a world of privilege when she married Edward. Elegant, discreet, intelligenteverything the magazines praised and the elite envied. But none of that mattered now.
As the limousine carried her and Thomas back to her fathers cottage in the Cotswolds, her mind raced. She had been faithful. She had loved Edward, stood by him when the markets crashed, when the press tore him apart, even when his mother despised her. And now, he cast her out like a stranger.
Her father, Thomas Whitaker, opened the door, eyes wide with shock.
“Eleanor? What happened?”
She collapsed into his arms. “He said Thomas isnt his He threw us out.”
Thomass jaw tightened. “Come inside, love.”
In the days that followed, Eleanor adjusted to her new life. The cottage was small, her old room nearly unchanged. The baby, oblivious, babbled and played, giving her moments of comfort.
But something gnawed at herthe DNA test. How could it be wrong?
Desperate for answers, she went to the lab where Edward had taken the test. She had contactsand favours to call in. What she discovered chilled her to the bone.
The test had been tampered with.
Meanwhile, Edward was alone in the mansion, haunted by the silence. He convinced himself hed done the right thinghe couldnt raise another mans child. But guilt ate at him. He avoided Thomass nursery until curiosity won. Seeing the empty crib, the plush giraffe, the tiny shoes in the wardrobe, something inside him shattered.
His mother, Lady Beatrice, offered no comfort.
“I warned you, Edward,” she said, sipping her tea. “That Whitaker girl was never good enough for you.”
Even she was surprised when Edward said nothing.
Days passed. A week.
Then a letter arrived.
No return address. A single sheet and a photograph.
Edwards hands shook as he read.
“Edward,
You were wrong. Completely.
You wanted proofhere it is. I found the original results. The test was falsified. And this photo, discovered in your mothers study You know exactly what it means.
Eleanor.”
The truth crashed down like a tombstone. He had seen the photo beforehis mother and the family solicitor, together in a revealing embrace. The reason for the deception was clear. A battle over an inheritance threatened by a rightful heir. All his pride, his rage, had been used as a weapon to rip his son from him. The letter from the only woman who had ever truly loved him revealed the cost of distrust and silence. The greatest wealth, he learned too late, isnt measured in bank balances, but in those who accept us whollyin the truths we choose to share. The echo of Eleanors words was the loudest sound in the now-empty mansiona haunting reminder of the family he had destroyed through blind pride. Some doubts, when left unspoken, become storms that destroy everything.
