My husband’s mother never cared for me, yet after our son arrived, things spiraled in a way I never anticipated. As my loyalty came under fire, I agreed to a DNA test—but only if the rules were fair.
I’d stood by Ben from the very beginning—through two job losses and while he built his business from the ground up. I also tolerated his mother, Karen, who treated me like I never belonged whenever we attended family gatherings.
She never said it outright, yet it was clear—she thought I wasn’t worthy.
I didn’t come from a high-profile family.
When I told Ben I wanted to elope instead of hosting a lavish wedding, she nearly exploded. I still remember the night I brought it up—we were lying in bed, legs intertwined, dreaming about our future. He actually seemed to love the idea.
However, when Karen found out that we actually went through it? She made it clear it was one more reason I didn’t belong.
Still, I figured once I gave birth to our son, things would change. My baby boy came out with his father’s hair, dark eyes, and the same little cleft in his chin. I thought maybe now, finally, I’d feel like part of the family.
But instead, I got blindsided.
Once after I gave birth, Karen visited the house. She held him, smiled, and cooed like the perfect grandma. Then she vanished. Weeks went by. No calls, no texts, no asking how we were doing or if I needed help.
I started feeling that old ache again, that quiet loneliness in your own house when you know someone out there is silently judging you.
One night, Ben walked in from the hallway, sat down beside me, and I immediately felt something was off.
He just stared at the floor, then at his hands.
Finally, he started talking.
“Babe… my mom thinks we should get a DNA test… Actually, Dad thinks it’s a good idea, too.”
I waited for him to smile. To say, “Can you believe they said that?” But he didn’t.
Instead, he explained that Karen had finally called and asked him to do it, just in case. She and her husband had been reading about women who trick men into raising other guys’ babies.
Then, I asked, real quiet, “Do you think we should?”
He rubbed his palms together and said, “It wouldn’t hurt to get some clarity, right? I mean, it would shut them up, and we’d have the proof.”
I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. But something inside me cracked.
“Sure,” I said, setting my book down on the coffee table. “Let’s do it. But only on one condition.”
He blinked and looked up. “What?”
“You test your mom, too,” I said. “Do a DNA test between you and your dad.”