My mother-in-law demanded a DNA test because our son was born with light hair. I thought my husband trusted me, but his mother turned out to be more persistent.
“Sorry, but my mom… she won’t back down. What if she’s right? Can you take the test? Just to put this issue to rest?”
I pressed my lips together. I hadn’t cheated on him. I knew our son was his. But the very request for the test felt like a blow to my heart.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll do the test. But after this, you’ll do what I say.”
When the test results came back, I gathered the whole family to share the important news.
We’ve been married for nearly four years. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but we loved each other and always tried to work through our problems together. However, there was one shadow hanging over our relationship from the beginning—his mother, Tamara Petrovna.
She never hid the fact that she didn’t like me. Fortunately, we lived separately, and our meetings were limited to holidays. I tried not to pay attention to her sharp remarks, but after the birth of our son, everything changed.
Tamara Petrovna began coming over almost every day. At first, I thought she just wanted to help, see her grandson, and give advice. But it quickly became clear that she had another agenda.
“Andrey, you need to do a DNA test,” she repeated over and over.
“Mom, enough,” he would wave her off. “This is my son, and I’m not going to check something that’s obvious.”
“Obvious?” she scoffed. “Look at him. He doesn’t look like you. Light hair, different eyes. Can’t you see that?”
I tried not to react. After all, Andrey knew the truth. He trusted me. But Tamara Petrovna was more persistent than I had imagined. She wore him down every day, spoke to other relatives, convincing them that the child wasn’t his. And they began to believe her.
One day, Andrey came home in a strange mood. He was silent and avoided eye contact. I could tell something was wrong.
“Sorry, but my mom… she won’t stop. What if she’s right? Can you take the test? Just to put this issue to rest?”
I pressed my lips together. I hadn’t betrayed him. I knew our son was his. But asking for the test felt like a stab to my heart. He didn’t trust me.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll do the test. But after that, you’ll do what I say.”
Andrey looked at me in surprise but agreed.
We took the test. A few days later, the results came back: “Probability of paternity—99.99%.” Andrey sighed in relief, and Tamara Petrovna fell silent for the first time.
“Well, mom, are you happy now?” he asked, looking at her.
She shrugged.
“Alright, I was wrong. But still…”
I didn’t listen anymore. I had already packed my things.
“Where are you going?” Andrey looked at me in shock.
“I’m leaving.” I picked up our son and looked him in the eye. “I can’t live with someone who doesn’t trust me.”
“Sorry, I was a fool! I… I didn’t mean to hurt you! It’s my mom…”
“You let her destroy our marriage. Now live with that.”
I left. Since then, I haven’t spoken to my ex-husband or his family. Andrey called, wrote, and begged me to forgive him. But it was too late. Trust, once broken, cannot be repaired.