Hey love, you wont believe the mess Poppys been through lately. Her husband, James, suddenly went off on a tangent about a DNA test like hed had a wild idea that shed been cheating or something.
Listen, Im not going to raise anyone elses kid, he said, his tone halfserious, halfmocking. Tomorrow Im finding a clinic, well get a DNA test done.
Poppys legs gave way. What? Youre serious? Weve been together three years. I never gave you any reason to doubt me.
James just smirked, Well see. If its mine, Ill be a proper dad, no questions. If not He left it hanging.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand another message from James. She unlocked it, and a flood of texts from the early hours poured out.
Why so long?
Mum called, asking when youll be back.
Poppy, I cant believe you havent given birth after 16 hours! What are the doctors saying? Why are you silent?
The last one, sent just seven minutes ago, read: Im downstairs. Come to the window.
Poppy sighed, tears threatening. She tried to sit up on her elbows, but the pain was brutal. The epidural had worn off ages ago, and even moving felt like a chore.
Lord she whispered, head sinking back onto the pillow.
The phone rang again. She answered, because James wouldnt let her have a moments peace.
What are you doing in there? he barked, no greeting. How many times do I have to ask? Youre reading my messages and not answering!
Im standing by the secondfloor windows. Show me the baby.
Poppy covered her eyes.
James, I cant.
What do you mean you cant?
I cant get up. I gave birth five hours ago, James. They stitched me up. I cant sit, walking hurts. I cant even reach the sill.
There was a heavy silence, then James muttered, Other people are waving over there. Theres a lady with a baby in the next window. And you? Special?
I’m in pain, James. Please, dont start.
What do you mean dont start? Am I the father or not? I want to see my son!
He went on, Do you realise Im standing here with flowers, feeling like a fool, freezing? Get your backside up and come to the window!
Poppy finally broke down, a quiet sob escaping. She just wanted him to say, Darling, how are you? Rest, I love you, but he kept pushing.
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 three seconds later the line rang again. She flipped the phone facedown. Tears streamed down, feeling utterly betrayed.
A nurse popped in, looking concerned. Mum, why are you crying? Stop that right now, okay? Lets calm down
The milk will spoil, the baby will be hungry. Let me help you sit up, its feeding time. Whats got you so upset?
My husband Poppy hiccuped. He wants to show the baby at the window. I cant
The nurse clicked her tongue, smoothed the blanket and, oddly, switched to you.
Honestly, theyre restless. Tell him to calm down, this isnt a circus!
She tried to hold it together. Dont cry, its not worth it.
Lie down, you need your strength. Think of the little one first.
James kept texting, one after another, each one colder than the last. Poppy read them and felt a chill settle in her chest.
Lying, huh?
Show me the baby! Is he healthy?
Maybe hes not yours if youre hiding him?
Typical wife, showing the first child to the husband. And youre hiding.
Poppys heart pounded. Three years together, and hed never acted like this. Shed thought shed married a reliable bloke, someone whod be her rock forever. Turns out she was wrong.
Pushing through the pain, she reached for the cot. The newborn was a little bundle, cheeks puckered, skin pink as any newborn, a tuft of dark hair on his head. She snapped a photo, hands shaking, the image a bit blurry but his face clear. She hit send.
James replied instantly, What is this?
Poppy typed: Our son. Charlie.
James called back, furious. Poppy, are you taking the piss?
What are you talking about? she asked, confused.
You look at him! Hes black!
What? James, youre losing it. Hes pink, he just was born!
Hair! My hairs brown, yours is dyed blonde, but were both lighthaired.
This little thing looks like a coal lump! Whose is he? The neighbours? The taxi drivers?
Poppy was livid. Are you mad? Almost all newborns have dark hair that lightens later!
The skins red cause the vessels are close to the surface!
Ask any doctor.
Dont try to school me, James snapped. Im not blind. White babies are born white if the parents are white.
This one well, you get the picture. No wonder you didnt come to the window.
She whispered, Youre youre ridiculous, and blocked his number. Tears choked her, making it hard to breathe. The baby let out a soft whimper, demanding attention.
She managed to swing her legs off the bed, wincing from the stitches, and cradled Charlie.
Dont worry, love, she murmured, rocking him, swallowing salty tears. Weve got each other, thats all we need, right, my little treasure?
The next three days at the hospital were a blur. She barely slept, feeding, changing diapers, listening to doctors, while wondering how shed ever get back home.
James stopped calling, only sending dry texts like What to buy? and What time to pick up? No more I love you, no more I miss you.
When discharge day came, Poppy shuffled out into the wards hallway, pale, dark circles under her eyes that no concealer could hide. A nurse followed, holding a blueribboned envelope.
James was waiting by the doors, a wilted bunch of roses in his hands, bought from the nearest kiosk. His face was stonecold, no hint of joy. Beside him, his mother, Irene, shifted from foot to foot.
Congratulations! the nurse announced, a little too loudly, handing over the envelope to the father.
James took the baby, grimacing, clutching the envelope out of sight of his wife. He didnt even look at his sons face.
Thanks, he grunted.
Irene peered into the envelope. Oh, hes tiny! Sleeping? Thank heavens, lets get home.
They drove in silence. James hammered the wheel, braking hard at every light, the car bouncing over potholes. Poppy, sitting in the back, clutched Charlie tightly.
Could you drive a bit more gently? she snapped when the car jolted. Hes in the back, you know.
Fine, Im driving fine, James muttered, glancing at the rearview mirror. If you dont like it, walk.
Back home, James tossed his keys onto the side table, never even taking off his shoes, and shouted from the kitchen, Anything to eat?
Poppy stared, stunned. James, Ive just been in the hospital for three days. I just got inside the house! Wheres the food coming from?
Order it then. Or Ill stand over the stove myself. Ive been working while you were resting.
She placed Charlie in the cot theyd picked out together a month earlier, then headed to the kitchen.
Can we talk? she asked softly, leaning against the doorway. It still hurt to stand.
James put his phone down. Sure, Ive been talking to the lads and my mum about this.
The lads? she repeated. Youre discussing our baby with the lads?
Im discussing the situation! he shouted, slamming his hand on the table. Poppy, cut the drama. The kid doesnt look like me at all. Hes darkhaired, eyes almost black. Theres no one like that in our family.
He moved closer, invading her space.
So, heres the deal. Im not going to raise anyone elses child. Tomorrow Ill find a clinic, well do a DNA test.
What?! Poppys legs gave out again. Youre serious? James, weve been together three years. I never gave you a reason to doubt.
James grinned crookedly. Well see. If its mine, Ill accept it, no questions. If not
Charlie started crying in the cot.
Go calm him down, James said, turning toward the window. Hes wailing like mad. Of course hes a little terror. Im calm, not like this.
Poppy stared at his broad back, his familiar tee shed ironed before the birth, and realised the James shed known was gone. She had no family now, no support.
She slipped into the bedroom, lifted Charlie to her chest. He quieted instantly, soothed by her warmth.
Shh, love, shh Mamas here, sweetie she whispered.
James peeked in after five minutes. So? Agree to the test? Scared?
Poppy met his gaze. Do it, she said flatly. Find a clinic, pay for it, run your test.
James smirked, Finally. I was getting bored here anyway.
But remember, James, Poppy cut in, voice steady, when the results come back and they say youre the father
He looked uneasy.
…youll understand youve lost not just me, but also my son. Ill never forgive you for that.
Youre just dumping mud on me when I need help, he hissed, waving a hand. Dont get all dramatic. Youll thank me later when the questions are closed.
He stalked off to the living room, turned on the telly, mumbling about some drama series.
Poppy looked at Charlie, his tiny fingers brushing her cheek, the dark hair James had ranted about.
Itll be alright, love, she murmured, kissing his forehead. Let them sort their paperwork.
Two months later, her phone rang it was James, sounding pathetic.
Poppy, please, come back. Ive realised everything, Im sorry! Ill pay child support, every penny, no matter what the court says. Just give me another chance.
She let the call go to voicemail.
The DNA test came back positive. She filed for divorce, for child support, for a fair split of what theyd built together.
Now she lives in a flat her parents helped her rent. Shes doing fine, honestly. Shes happy without that betrayer.
Just thought you should know love, life can throw some proper curveballs, but we get through em. Catch up soon?
