James insisted on a DNA test his mother had been meddling.
Listen, Im not going to raise someone who isnt mine Tomorrow Ill find a clinic, well do a DNA test, he said.
What? youre serious? Emilys legs gave way. James, weve been together three years. I never gave you a reason to doubt me
Then well find out, he interrupted with a crooked grin. If the babys mine, Ill accept responsibility, apologise, and be a proper father. If not
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Emily glanced at the screen another message from her husband.
She unlocked the phone, and the nightold texts poured out, the ones shed typed while sobbing into her pillow.
Why so long?
Mum called, asking when youll be home.
Emily, I cant believe you havent delivered after sixteen hours! What are the doctors saying? Why are you silent?
The most recent note, sent seven minutes ago: Im downstairs. Come to the window.
Emily exhaled, a wave of tears threatening. She tried to push herself up on her elbows but failed. The epidural had long since worn off; even a slight movement hurt.
God, she whispered, letting her head fall back onto the pillow.
The phone rang again; James would not leave her in peace.
Hello? she croaked.
What are you still not getting up? James didnt even bother with a greeting. How many times do I have to ask you to answer my messages?
Im standing by the secondfloor windows. Look, Ill show you the baby.
Emily closed her eyes.
I cant, James.
What do you mean you cant?
I cant stand. I gave birth five hours ago, theyve sewn me up. I cant sit, walking is agony. I wont even reach the sill.
A heavy silence lingered before James snapped, Other people are waving, look over there a woman with a baby and a balloon. And you? Special?
Im in pain, James. Please dont start.
What do you mean dont start? Am I not the father? I want to see my son!
You realise Im standing here in a wet coat, shivering, while youre demanding I lift my? He snarled.
Emily couldnt hold back any longer; she burst into quiet sobs. All she wanted was for him to say, Darling, how are you? Rest, I love you. Instead
I cant lift the baby, she whispered. Theyve told me not to get up until at least evening. Go home, James
She hung up, but the line rang again three seconds later. She flipped the phone facedown. Tears streamed down like rain; why was he being so cruel?
A nurse entered the bay, eyes wide.
Mrs. Thompson, why are you crying? Stop that at once! Lets calm down The milk will spoil and the baby will starve. Let me help you sit up, its feeding time. Whats upsetting you?
My husband wants the baby at the window. I cant
The nurse clicked her tongue, tucked the blanket, and switched to a familiar, informal tone.
Those restless lads again, eh? Tell him to stop fussing. This is a maternity ward, not a circus!
Dont wail, its not worth it. Rest, you need strength. Think of the little one first.
Jamess messages kept coming, each one colder than the last. Emily read them, feeling the chill deepen inside.
Covering it up, are you?
Show me the child! Is he even healthy?
Maybe he isnt mine if youre hiding him?
Normal women show their first child to their husband. Why are you hiding?
Emily felt terror creep over her. After three years together, James had never behaved like this.
She had believed shed married a reliable man, someone who would protect and support her for life. She was wrong.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Emily reached for the cot. The newborn slept, his tiny nose wrinkled in a funny little grimace. He was still a pink, crumpled bundle, a dark tuft of hair perched on his head.
She snapped a photo. Her hands trembled; the picture was slightly blurry, but his face was clear. She hit send.
The reply arrived instantly.
Whats this?
Emily typed back, Our son, Jack.
James called back, his voice sharp.
Emily, are you an idiot?
What? I dont understand.
Look at him! Hes black!
What black, James? Hes redcheeked, just born!
His hair! My hair is blonde, yours is dyed, but mine is light. His hair is like charcoal! Whose is it? The neighbours? The cab drivers?
Emilys blood boiled.
Youre mad! she snapped. Almost every newborn has dark hair that lightens later! The skin is pink because the blood vessels are close to the surface. Ask any doctor!
Dont try to lecture me! James barked. Im not blind. Children are born pale if the parents are white. This one clearly not. No wonder you didnt come to the window.
Emilys eyes welled. She blocked his number, the sobs making it hard to breathe. The baby let out a soft whimper, demanding attention.
She dragged herself out of the bed, wincing at the stitch pain, and cradled Jack in her arms.
Its alright, love, she murmured, rocking him, swallowing salty tears. Its just us. We have each other, and thats enough. My little treasure?
Three days in the hospital passed like a haze. Emily barely slept, feeding, changing nappies, listening to the nurses, while a single thought looped in her mind: how to get home?
James stopped calling. He sent only dry texts: What should we buy? When do you want to collect? No I love you, no I miss you.
The discharge papers felt like a farce. Emily shuffled into the lobby, pale, dark circles under her eyes that no concealer could hide.
A nurse followed, solemnly handing a blueribboned envelope.
James stood by the doors, a wilted bouquet of roses in his hand, clearly bought from a cheap stall.
His face was stonecold, not a hint of joy.
Next to him, his mother, Margaret Harper, shifted from foot to foot.
Congratulations! the nurse shouted, handing the envelope to the new father.
James took the baby, grimacing. He held the envelope outstretched, eyes never meeting his sons tiny face.
Thanks, he muttered.
Margaret nudged the corner of the envelope.
Oh, what a tiny one! Sleeping? Thank heavens, he survived. Lets get home.
They drove in silence. James accelerated sharply, braking hard at every traffic light. Emily clutched Jack tightly in the back seat.
Could you drive a bit more carefully? she snapped as the car jolted over a pothole. Youre carrying a baby!
Fine, Im driving fine, James snapped back, glancing at the rearview mirror. If you dont like it, walk.
Back at the house, James tossed his keys on the kitchen counter without even taking off his shoes.
Anything to eat? he shouted from the hallway.
Emily stared, stunned.
James, Ive just been out of the hospital for three days. Ive only just walked in! Where am I supposed to get food?
Order it. Or Ill cook. I was working while you were resting, he sneered, the word resting dripping with contempt.
Emily placed Jack in the crib theyd chosen together a month ago and moved to the kitchen.
Can we talk? she asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe. Standing was still painful.
Fine, he said, putting his phone down. Ive been consulting the lads and my mother.
The lads? she echoed. Youre discussing our son with the lads?
Im discussing the situation! he bellowed, slamming his palm on the table. Emily, cut the drama. The child doesnt look like me at all. Not even a hint!
Hes only three days old, James! He doesnt look like anyone yet!
Dont try to feed me that! He lunged forward. Im not some fool, Emily! I see what I see. Hes darkhaired, eyes almost black. We have no such people in our family.
He stepped close, invading her space.
Listen. Im not going to raise someone who isnt mine. Tomorrow Ill find a clinic, well do a DNA test.
Emilys legs gave out again. What? Youre serious? James, weve been together three years. I never gave you a reason to doubt me
Ill check, he interrupted with a lopsided grin. If hes mine, Ill step up, no questions. If not
Jack began to whimper in the cot.
Get him quiet, James muttered, turning toward the window. Hell scream like a banshee. Hes a stranger to me; Im a calm man.
Emily stared at his broad back, the familiar football shirt she had ironed for him before the birth, and realised the James shed known was gone. She no longer had a family.
She turned, entered the bedroom, lifted the baby, pressed him to her chest. He settled instantly, comforted by her warmth.
Shh, little one, shh she whispered. Im here. Mums right here, love.
James peeked in after five minutes.
So? Youll agree to the test? Or are you scared?
Emily met his gaze.
Do it, she said flatly. Find a clinic, pay for it. Get the test done.
Finally, he snorted. Thats the spirit. No more tantrums.
Remember, James, Emily interrupted, voice steady, when the results come back and they say youre not the father youll understand youve lost not just me, but also our son. Ill never forgive you for that.
He flinched, caught off guard by the change in her tone.
You think you can ruin me when I need help? he spat, waving his hand. Its just a test. Kids are born white if the parents are white. This one clearly not. Thats why you never came to the window.
Emily blocked his number, tears choking her throat. The cot rattled as the baby let out a faint cry for attention.
She held him close, whispering, Its alright, Jack. Well manage. Weve got each other, and thats enough, my little love.
Two months later, James rang again, his voice pleading.
Emily, please, come back. Ive realised everything. It was my mothers meddling, the lads He stammered, Forgive me for the test! Ive proved Jack is mine, Ill pay alimony, every penny, no matter what the court says.
Emily let the call go to voicemail.
James eventually got the DNA results they were positive. She filed for divorce, for child support, and for a fair split of their joint assets. Her parents helped her find a flat, which she now called home.
She lived, it must be said, happily. She no longer needed the betrayer in her life.
In the end, Emily learned that love built on trust is far stronger than any promise, and that standing up for herself, even when alone, protects the ones who truly matter.
