I was never loved by my husband’s mother, but after our baby was born, things took a turn I never anticipated. I consented to the DNA test when my loyalty was called into question, but not before establishing equality.
Despite two layoffs and assisting Ben in starting his firm from the ground up, I have remained faithful to him since the beginning. Additionally, I tolerated his mother, Karen, who always acted as though I was an outsider whenever we attended a family gathering.
I could tell she didn’t think I was good enough, even though she never explicitly stated it.
My family wasn’t “professional.” I was not raised in an era of mimosa fountain breakfasts or country clubs.
I remember the night I brought it up, we were sitting in bed with our legs crossed, just talking about the future, and he seemed into the idea. However, when Karen learned that we had actually gone through it, she made it clear that it was just one more reason I didn’t belong. I thought maybe now, finally, I’d feel like part of the family, but instead I was caught off guard. After all, my baby boy was born with his father’s hair, dark eyes, and the same little cleft in his chin.
Karen visited the house once after I gave birth. She held him in our living room, smiled, and cooed like the perfect grandma. Then she vanished. Weeks went by. No calls, no texts, no inquiring how we were doing or if I needed help.
I began to experience that familiar pain once more, that feeling of being alone in your own home when you know that someone else is silently criticizing you.
I cuddled up with a book on the sofa one evening after we had put our son to sleep in his crib and everything in the house was peaceful.
Ben strolled in from the hallway, sat down next me, and I instantly knew something was odd.
He remained silent for a while. Just gazed at his hands, then at the floor.
At last, he began to speak.
“Baby… According to my mother, we ought to have a DNA test. In fact, Dad also thinks it’s a fantastic idea.
I waited for a smile from him. Saying “Just kidding” or “Is it true what they said?” However, he didn’t.
Rather, he clarified that, just in case, Karen had finally called and requested him to do it. She and her spouse had read about women who deceive men into caring for the children of other men.
After he finished talking, I quietly whispered, “Do you think we should?”
He refused to look into my eyes. It wouldn’t hurt to acquire some clarity, would it? He simply rubbed his palms together. It would silence them, after all, and we would have the evidence.
I put my book down on the sofa table and responded, “Sure.” “Let’s get it done. But only under one restriction.
He looked up and blinked. “What?”
I answered, “You test your mom too.” “You and your father should take a DNA test.”
He leaned back and raised his eyebrows, asking, “Why?”
I got up and crossed my arms as I paced the room.
I remarked, “I’d like to know if your mom is so certain about her own past if she can make baseless accusations of cheating.” “You know, fair’s fair?”
At first, Ben remained silent. He merely gazed at me. However, he nodded after that.
“All right,” he scowled. “You have a point. I will. However, we first keep it private.
And that was all.
It was simple to get our son to take the test. I held him while a local lab swabbed his cheek during our brief session. He didn’t even notice anything strange because he was too busy trying to bite the tech’s glove.
Obtaining Ben’s father’s DNA was more difficult. We needed to think outside the box.
About a week later, we invited his parents to join us for supper. Karen placed the pie she always brings on the counter.
Ben’s father sat down in the living room and talked about his golf game as if nothing had happened.
Ben casually gave his dad a toothbrush from a wellness product line he claimed to be investigating for the company as the evening came to an end.
His father shrugged, carried it to the restroom, and brushed mindlessly.
He claimed that the toothbrush was identical to his own when he returned outside. Ben gave me a look and advised his dad to just leave it in the bathroom.
We send the samples the next day. The mission is finished.
Our son’s first birthday was a few weeks later. Only our immediate relatives attended the tiny birthday celebration. I used silver and blue balloons to adorn the living room.
Before it was time to cut the cake, we played some games while it sat on the dining table. We took turns trying to get my kid to blow out the candle while we sang.
I smiled and continued, “We have a small surprise for everyone.” Everyone looked at me.
Looking directly at Karen, I stated, “Ben and I decided to get a DNA test for our son because some folks had doubts.”
Since my child clearly resembled Ben, everyone with common sense appeared perplexed.
However, Karen had a smug little smile on her face as she sat in the recliner.
She must have been certain that I was a terrible lady.
I took out the paperwork after opening the mail. “And you know what?” “I said.” “He is definitely Ben’s child.” Karen’s tiny smile vanished.
Ben added, “But that’s not all,” as he got up from the couch and took another envelope out of his desk drawer.
I said, “We thought we’d see if Ben is related to his dad too, since we were doing DNA tests anyhow.”
Karen’s mouth fell and her face became white. She exclaimed, “What?!” after a moment.
I remarked, “Seemed only fair.” “Under the conditions, correct?”
Ben opened the second packet, and the room fell silent. We hadn’t even looked at it. However, my spouse blinked a lot and looked at the paper for a lot longer than I had anticipated.
“Dad…” he gulped and said. “I’m not your son, turns out.”
The room reverberated with gasps. Karen got to her feet so quickly that the chair almost fell over.
“You had NO RIGHT—” she screamed as she approached me.
But Ben stood between us with one hand up to stop her.
“You accused my wife of cheating, Mom,” he snapped. “Turns out, you were projecting.”
Karen looked around at everyone staring, then burst into tears and dropped back into her chair, sobbing.
That was the only sound for a minute, then Ben’s dad slowly stood up. He didn’t say a word. Just walked to the table, grabbed his keys, and left.
Karen called for days afterward. Morning, afternoon, sometimes late at night. We didn’t answer. I didn’t want to hear the crying, or the excuses, or whatever version of the truth she was ready to spin.
But the silence wasn’t easy either. And now that the DNA thing was over, the real problem surfaced: our marriage.
It wasn’t just Karen who’d hurt me. Ben had asked for the test too.
He hadn’t stood up to her. He hadn’t said, “No, Mom, don’t be ridiculous.” That part stung the most.
He felt awful about it, though. He’d apologized more times than I could count, and not in that rushed, guilty way, but like he really meant it.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said one night. “I just… didn’t want to fight her. Didn’t want to believe she’d say that without a reason. I was stupid.”
Even though I know others would’ve walked away from this relationship, I decided on therapy. For several weeks, we sat in a little office with beige walls and a box of tissues on the table between us, saying the hard stuff.
“It’s not just the DNA test,” I told him during one session. “It’s the lack of trust. You didn’t believe me, even though I’d never given you a reason to doubt me.”
He nodded, eyes wet. “I know. I messed up. I’ll never doubt you again.”
He’s kept that promise, so far. I have to give him that.
It didn’t happen overnight, but over time, we worked through it. He listened more. He defended me. He shut down comments from his mom’s family, who were trying to get us to talk to her.
Finally, I forgave him fully, not because I forgot, but because he owned up to his wrongs.
But the relationship with Karen is almost completely broken. I tried listening to a voicemail, and it was full of lazy excuses and guilt trips.
I deleted it before the end, and we’ve blocked her since.
Ben’s dad filed for divorce not long after the party. I don’t know what was said between them, but he stopped speaking to Karen, too.
Without her, he began visiting us more, and nothing’s changed between him and Ben. Luckily.
Meanwhile, our son kept growing, laughing, babbling, and learning to walk by gripping the edge of the coffee table.
And the DNA paperwork, both results, are still in a drawer somewhere. We haven’t looked at them again.