Arthur slammed the paper down upon the kitchen table, his fist thumping the hard surface. “What on earth are you on about, Elaine?” he demanded, his voice tight. “What’s all this about a test? Have you lost your marbles?”
“Don’t shout!” Elaine sprang up from the sofa, eyes blazing with fury. “I have a right to know the truth! Eleanor looks less like you with every passing day, Arthur, and you know it perfectly well!”
“She *is* my daughter!” he roared. “*Our* daughter! And if you mention that blasted test one more time, I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Elaine challenged, planting her hands on her hips. “Throw me out? Go on then! But first, let’s find out whose daughter is really growing up in this house!”
Arthur sank heavily into a chair, dragging his hands down his face. Never before had such a row erupted in their home. Even during the hardest times, they’d never resorted to shouting and accusations.
“Elaine, what’s got into you?” he asked wearily. “Where are these daft thoughts coming from? Eleanor was born at St Thomas’s, I fetched her from the hospital myself. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember,” his wife hissed through clenched teeth. “But it doesn’t answer the questions.”
Elaine went to the sideboard, pulling out the family photo albums. She spread them open on the table before him. “Look,” she jabbed at the pictures. “Eleanor at one. Blonde ringlets, blue eyes. Three years old. Same. Now, fifteen. Dark, straight hair, brown eyes! Explain that!”
“Children grow, they change,” Arthur attempted. “It’s that transitional phase, the adolescent years… hormones…”
“Hormones don’t change eye colour!” Elaine cut him off. “And they don’t make curls go straight! Her height? Fifteen, and she’s a head taller than me! Where did *that* come from, when we’re both average height?”
Arthur fell silent, studying the photographs. The transformation was undeniable. The fair-haired little girl had become a tall, dark-haired young woman with distinctly different features.
“Perhaps she takes after a grandmother,” he suggested uncertainly. “Or a great-grandmother. Genetics are complicated.”
“Which grandmother?” Elaine scoffed. “My parents are fair-haired, yours too. The great-grandparents were the same. Where did these features come from?”
Eleanor entered the room. Tall, slender, with long dark hair and large brown eyes. Distinctly beautiful, but undeniably unlike either parent.
“What are you shouting about?” she asked, glancing between her father and mother. “The neighbours are complaining.”
“Nothing, dear,” Arthur replied quickly. “Mum’s just feeling a bit frayed.”
“About what?” Eleanor perched on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. “Work again?”
Elaine studied her daughter intently. Calm, thoughtful, nothing like her own temperament. And physically, a stranger.
“Eleanor,” she asked abruptly, “honestly now, have you ever wondered why you look so different from us?”
“Elaine!” Arthur protested.
“What?” Elaine turned to him. “Let her answer. This concerns her too.”
Eleanor shrugged. “Not really. Never thought about it. Does it matter? You’re my parents.”
“Of course,” Arthur embraced her. “Don’t listen to Mum, she’s just had a difficult day.”
Elaine watched the scene with a pang of bitter frustration. Arthur and Eleanor understood each other perfectly, wordlessly. She felt like an outsider in her own family.
“Go do your homework,” Elaine said curtly to Eleanor. “Dad and I need to talk.”
Eleanor nodded and left. Arthur watched her go, then faced his wife.
“Why upset her?” he asked quietly. “She’s done nothing wrong.”
“Well, who has?” Elaine sat opposite him. “Arthur, I need the truth. If Eleanor is our daughter, the test will confirm it. If not…”
“If not, what?” he interrupted. “Will you toss the child out? Stop loving her?”
Elaine was silent. She didn’t know herself what she would do if her fears were confirmed.
“I love her,” she admitted. “But I need to know.”
Arthur rose and walked to the window. Outside, children played, mothers pushed prams. Normal life, untouched by such dark suspicions.
“Elaine,” he asked, not turning around, “what if the truth isn’t what you expect? What then?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “But I can’t live not knowing anymore.”
That night, Arthur lay awake long after the lamps went out. How drastically everything had changed in a single day. That morning, they were an ordinary family; now…
Beside him, Elaine stirred. She was awake too.
“Arthur,” she whispered. “Are you asleep?”
“No.”
“Tell me truly… did you never suspect?”
He hesitated, then sighed.
“Sometimes. Brief thoughts. I pushed them away. Eleanor is mine, whatever any test might say.”
“I understand. But I can’t live like this.”
At breakfast the next morning, Eleanor sensed the tension hanging between her parents.
“Mum, Dad… has something happened?” she asked, spreading butter on her toast.
“Nothing serious,” Arthur replied. “Just grown-up troubles.”
“Can I help?”
Elaine looked at her daughter. An open face, kind eyes. A good girl, considerate and well-mannered.
“No, love. We’ll manage.”
Eleanor finished her tea and got ready for school. She kissed her parents and hurried out.
“See what a good girl she is?” Arthur said. “Why risk destroying everything?”
“I’m not destroying. I need to know.”
After work, Elaine went to the clinic offering genetic testing. The consultant explained the procedure and gave her a form.
“We need samples from all three of you,” the woman stated. “Results in a week.”
At home, Elaine placed the form on the table.
“Our appointment is tomorrow,” she announced to her husband. “We go together.”
Arthur picked up the paper.
“Elaine, I’m asking one last time. Are you certain?”
“I am.”
“And if it’s positive? If Eleanor *is* our daughter? Could you look at her normally after this?”
Elaine pondered. What if her suspicions were wrong? Could she forget her doubts?
“I could,” she answered. “Then I’d know.”
That evening, they told Eleanor about the visit.
“Why?” the girl was puzzled. “We’re healthy.”
“It’s just a test,” Elaine explained vaguely. “A routine thing.”
Eleanor shrugged, trusting her parents without question.
At the clinic, the procedure took moments. Saliva samples from each, then a promise: “Results ready Thursday afternoon.”
The week dragged on unbearably. Elaine was edgy, snapping at everyone, sleeping poorly. Arthur tried to act normally, but tension radiated from him. Eleanor noticed the change but kept her worries to herself, spending more time at a friend’s.
On Thursday, Elaine took time off work and went alone for the results. Arthur stayed behind, saying he wasn’t ready.
The unopened envelope felt like lead in her hand on the bus ride home. The knowledge it contained would alter their lives forever.
The house was empty. School, work. Elaine sat at the kitchen table, her hands trembling as she tore open the envelope.
She read once. Twice. Three times.
The result was conclusive: the probability of Arthur’s paternity was 0.01%. Effectively
Yet even decades later, Eleanor would sometimes pause, gazing at their grown daughter’s unmistakeable dark eyes, and feel a silent gratitude that mystery had deepened their love, not destroyed it.
