Let me tell you about my son, Ryan.
His journey through college was pretty much like any other kid’s, filled with ups and downs, late-night study sessions, and the occasional party.
It was during his senior year, though, that he dropped a bombshell on me that would change the dynamics of our family forever.
Ryan told me his girlfriend, Shelly, was pregnant.
Now, Ryan’s a good kid — responsible, kind-hearted, and a bit naive when it comes to matters of the heart.
So, when he shared the news, my first instinct was to ensure he wasn’t walking into a situation blindly.
I suggested a DNA test, just to be sure. Ryan, bless him, took the advice in stride and got the test done.
When the results confirmed he was the father, he didn’t hesitate to stand by Shelly and start dating her officially.
The first time I met Shelly, I knew we were going to have a rough start.
She confronted me about the DNA test, accusing me of thinking the worst of her.
I tried to explain it was just a precaution, a standard piece of advice I’d give in any similar situation, but the damage was done.
Our relationship started on the wrong foot, and despite her integration into the family, things between us never warmed up. I decided to keep my distance for the sake of peace, being civil at family events but nothing more.
Time passed, and Ryan and Shelly’s relationship blossomed into an engagement.
That’s when things took a turn for the worse. Shelly, for reasons known only to her, began slandering me to anyone who would listen.
She painted me as this villain, twisting my words and actions into something sinister.
It was like she was on a mission to turn my own family against me, and the sad part was, it was working.
My son, caught between his mother and his future wife, felt he had to make a stand.
He gave me an ultimatum: apologize to Shelly for things I never said or did, or be barred from their wedding.