Thursday evening, 8 PM
Settling in with tea after an absolute nightmare of a day. James slammed that paper down so hard it made my cup rattle. “What are you talking about, Katherine?!” he shouted, voice cracking. “DNA testing? Have you lost your mind completely?”
I shot up from the sofa. “Don’t yell at me! I’ve every right to know the truth! Emily looks less like you every single day, and you see it!”
“My daughter!” he roared, face red. “Ours! Mention this blasted test again, and I swear—”
“Or what?” I snapped, planting my hands on my hips. “You’ll kick me out? Go on, then! But first, we’ll find out whose child we’ve been raising!”
James collapsed onto a chair, digging his palms into his eyes. We’d never fought like this. Not even during the leanest times.
“What’s got into you?” he sighed, weary beyond words. “Where are these mad thoughts coming from? I brought Emily home from St. Mary’s myself. Don’t you remember?”
“Of course,” I muttered. “It just doesn’t explain anything.”
I pulled our photo albums from the cabinet, spreading them across the table. “Look,” I jabbed a finger. “Emily aged one—fair curls, blue eyes. Aged three—same. Now, fifteen? Dark, straight hair, brown eyes. Explain that!”
“Children change,” he offered weakly. “Hormones, adolescence…”
“Hormones don’t alter eye colour!” My voice broke. “Or turn curls straight! And her height? Fifteen and taller than me! Where’d she get that when we’re both average?”
James fell silent, studying the pictures. The shift *was* dramatic—our little blonde cherub now a tall girl with dark features hinting at warmer climates.
“Maybe she takes after a grandparent?” he suggested uncertainly. “Genetics are complicated.”
“Which grandparent?” My frustration boiled over. “My parents are fair, yours too. All the old photos show the same. Where did those features come from?”
Emily walked in then—slim, tall, dark-haired, with those soulful brown eyes. Beautiful, yet utterly unlike either of us.
“Why are you shouting?” she asked, glancing between us. “The neighbours sent up a glare.”
“Nothing, love,” James answered too quickly. “Mum’s just a bit stressed.”
“About what?” Emily perched on the sofa, hugging her knees. “Work being rubbish?”
I studied her. Calm, thoughtful—so unlike my own fiery temperament. Utterly foreign.
“Em, honestly,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “Haven’t you ever wondered why you don’t resemble us?”
“Katherine!” James gasped.
“What?” I turned on him. “It’s her question too!”
Emily shrugged. “Dunno. Never thought about it. Does it matter? You’re my parents.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” James pulled her into a hug. “Ignore Mum; she’s having a bad day.”
I watched them, this easy, unspoken understanding twisting inside me. I felt like a stranger in my own home.
“Go finish your coursework,” I managed. “Dad and I need to talk.”
After Emily left, James turned to me. “Why traumatise her?” he asked quietly. “She’s done nothing wrong.”
“Who *has* then?” I sat opposite him. “James, I need the truth. If Emily’s ours, the test confirms it. If not…”
“If not, *what*?” His question hung heavy. “Throw her out? Stop loving her?”
I froze. Truthfully, I didn’t know.
“I love her,” I admitted. “But I need to know.”
James stood by the window, watching the mundane evening unfold—kids playing, parents with prams. A life untouched by this poison.
“And if the truth isn’t what you expect?” he asked, not turning. “Then what?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But I can’t live not knowing.”
—
That night, sleep wouldn’t come. James tossed beside me. “You awake?” my voice barely a breath in the dark.
“Mm.”
“Truthfully… didn’t you ever suspect?”
A long pause. “Sometimes. I pushed it away. She’ll always be my daughter, test or not.”
“I understand. But I can’t live like this.”
—
The week waiting for the results crawled by. I took the day off Thursday, collecting the sealed envelope alone from the clinic near Paddington. James couldn’t face it. The bus ride home felt surreal. The house was empty. Trembling, I ripped open the envelope.
0.01% probability of paternity.
Not James’s child.
The tears came then, overwhelming. Relief wasn’t there. Just profound grief for the family life shattered with a single sheet of paper.
James arrived late, saw the documents on the kitchen table, saw my ravaged face. Knew.
“Well?”
“You’re not her father.”
He sank into a chair, staring at the report like it was written in code.
“What now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Emily? Does she know?”
“She had supper, went to study.”
Silence swallowed us. What do you say?
“James… will you keep her?”
“Where would she *go*?” he asked, exhaustion etching lines around his eyes. “Onto the streets?”
“Can you love her the same?”
He was silent for a lifetime. “Honestly? I don’t know. I need time.”
Emily padded in then, in her pyjamas, tousle-haired. “Mum, got any of that calming stuff? Headache.”
Our stricken expressions alarmed her instantly. “What’s wrong?”
“Sit down, love,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “We need to talk.”
I explained the test. Presented the results.
“So… Dad isn’t my real dad?” she breathed, eyes wide.
He shook his head, mute.
“But how?” Bewilderment clouded her features.
“A mix-up,” I murmured. “Another baby born same day, St. Mary’s. Must’ve happened then.”
She absorbed it, this bomb shattering her world. Finally, faintly: “What happens to me?”
“I don’t know,” I said. The most honest answer.
“Dad?” Her voice was small, terrified. “Will you make me leave?”
Something broke in James’s face then. He looked at her, this girl he’d taught to ride a bike, navigate maths, whose first word was ‘Dada’. The paperwork meant nothing.
“You’re staying,” he said, firm and clear. “You’re *my* daughter. Always.”
Emily flew into his arms, sobbing. “I love you, Dad. Best dad ever.”
He held her tight. “Love you more, darling girl.”
I watched them, a maelstrom inside
Elizabeth watched her parents share a look over the breakfast table, a quiet understanding passing between them that no formal documentation could ever capture. Through it all, her heart held steady, anchored not by the ties of blood they had questioned, but by the unshakeable love that truly defined her family.
