I lost the will to help my mother-in-law when I discovered what she had done. Yet, I cannot bring myself to leave her on her own.
There was a time when I was raising two children, each with a different father. My eldest is my daughter, Emily, who would be sixteen now. Her father, Jonathan, has always paid maintenance and remained very much involved in her life. Even though Jonathan has remarried and has two more children with his new wife, he has never forgotten about Emily.
My son, on the other hand, has not been as fortunate. Two years ago, my second husband, Thomas, became gravely ill and passed away in hospital just three days later. Time has marched on, but I still find it difficult to accept that he is truly gone. Sometimes I think any moment the door will open and he will stroll in, offering me a warm smile and wishing me a lovely day. It is in those moments that the tears flow and I am lost in grief for the rest of the day.
Through all that darkness, I drew great comfort from Margaret, Thomass mother. It was as difficult for her as it was for meher only son had passed, after all. We clung to each other, weathering that storm side by side. Phone calls and cups of tea in each others kitchens became our routine, always with Thomas the centre of our talked-about memories.
For a time, we even considered living together, but Margaret changed her mind. Seven years seemed to fly by, and our relationship flourishedwe were as close as friends could be.
I recall when I first found out I was expecting, Margaret mentioned something odd about a paternity test. She said shed seen a programme on the telly about a man who raised another mans child, never knowing the truth until years later. I told her outright it was nonsense.
If a man ever doubts whether a child is his, hell be nothing more than a Sunday dad! I said.
Margaret insisted she trusted that I was carrying her sons baby. Still, I always suspected she would urge us to have the test once the child was born, but she never brought it up again.
This past summer, Margarets health failed her, and she rapidly became very ill. We decided she should move closer to me, so with the help of an estate agent, we searched for a flat for her.
During all this, Margaret was admitted to hospital, and we needed her late husbands death certificate for the property paperwork. As she was unable, I went round to her house to fetch it. As I sorted through the folder where the papers were kept, I stumbled upon another document tucked away with the others. It was a paternity testcarried out when my son was only two months old, confirming beyond doubt that he was Thomass child.
My shock was indescribable. Margaret had never really trusted me! I could not keep the discovery to myself; I told Margaret everything when I saw her. She apologised profusely, saying how deeply she regretted her foolishness all those years ago. But I cannot shake off the hurt. I feel betrayed by her silence, all these years kept in the dark.
Now I struggle with the notion of helping Margaret, but I simply cannot abandon her. After all, she is alone, and there is no one else to help.
I do not wish to deprive my son of his grandmother, and I will continue to support Margaret as best I can. Yet, I fear that the warmth and trust we once shared can never be truly rekindled.
