Never did I envision my husband, my child’s father, doubting our baby’s identity. However, I sat on our gray sofa holding our little boy as my husband and his parents flung accusations like knives.

First, a look. Our mother-in-law Patricia grimaced when she saw Ethan in the hospital. He doesn’t look like a Collins,” she muttered to my husband, Mark, while they thought I was sleeping. I tried not to hear, but her remarks wounded more than my C-section sutures.

At first, Mark ignored it. We joked at how rapidly newborns change, how Ethan had my nose and Mark’s chin. Once planted, Patricia watered it with her poisonous assumptions whenever she could.

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“You know, Mark had blue eyes as a baby,” she pointed out while raising Ethan to the light. Strange that Ethan’s are so dark, huh?

Mark came home late from work one night when Ethan was three months old. Fed the baby on the sofa, my hair unclean, tiredness weighed me down. He didn’t kiss me hello. He stood with arms crossed.

“We need to talk,” he said.

I knew then what was coming.

Mom and Dad believe… It’s better to test DNA. To cleanse the air.”

“To clear the air?” My voice was raspy with incredulity. “You think I cheated?”

Mark moved uneasily. “No way, Emma. But they’re concerned. I simply want to end it. For everyone.”

My heart dropped into my gut. For everyone. Not me. Not for Ethan. For his parents’ comfort.

After a lengthy moment, I murmured, “Fine,” squeezing my lips to not cry. Want a test? Your exam is coming. I want something in return.”

Mark frowned. “You mean what?”

“If I agree to this — this insult — then you agree to let me handle things my way if it comes back the way I know it will,” I continued, shivering but firm. “And you agree, right now, in front of your parents, to cut off anyone who doubts me after this.”

Mark paused. Behind him, his mother bristled, arms crossed, eyes icy.

“And if I don’t?”

I looked into his eyes, our baby’s calm breathing warming my chest. “You can leave. Your group may depart. Do not return.”

The hush was thick. Mark’s stare stopped Patricia’s outcry. He knew I wasn’t lying. He knew I never cheated and that Ethan was his son—his exact copy if he could see beyond his mother’s poison.

Mark responded, “Fine,” running his fingers through his hair. “We’ll test. If it returns as you claim, that’s all. No more conversation. No more claims.”

Patricia looked like she ate a lemon. “This is ridiculous,” she huffed. “If you have nothing to hide“

I snapped, “Oh, I have nothing to hide.” “Your hatred for me and constant meddling seem to do. It finishes when the test returns. Or your son or grandchild will never return.”

Mark flinched but didn’t protest.

Tests were done two days later. A nurse swabbed Ethan’s little lips while he sobbed in my arms. Mark grimaced. That night, I rocked Ethan and whispered incomprehensible apologies.

I didn’t sleep throughout the results wait. Mark did—on the sofa. I hated having him in our bed while he questioned me and our baby.

Mark read the findings first. The paper shook as he kneeled before me. “Emma. So sorry. Never should have—

“Don’t apologize to me,” I responded coldly. Ethan was taken from his cot and placed on my lap. Please apologize to your kid. Later, to yourself. Because you lost something irretrievable.”

But I continued. Tests were just half the fight. I was starting my strategy.

Mark knelt, clutching the document that validated his previous suspicions. His eyes were red, but I felt neither sorrow or tenderness. A frigid emptiness replaced faith.

Patricia and Gerald, my father-in-law, stood statue-like behind him. Patricia’s lips were white from pressure. She avoided looking at me. Good. She shouldn’t.

“You agreed,” I remarked calmly as I rocked Ethan, who happy-gurgled oblivious to the tempest that had smashed our family’s barriers. “You promised to eliminate anyone who doubted me if the test cleared the air.”

Mark gulped hard. Emma, please. This is my mama. She was worried—

“Worried?” I laughed sharply, making Ethan cringe. I soothed him by kissing his lovely hair. “She poisoned you against your wife and son. She labeled me a liar and cheater because she can’t manage your life.

Patricia stood up, her voice shaking with the righteous anger I’d become used to. Emma, don’t overreact. Simply doing what any family would. We have to confirm—”

“No,” I said. Regular families trust each other. Normal men don’t demand wives prove they own children. You want proof? You got it. Now you’ll receive something different.”

Mark regarded me. “What are you talking about, Emma?”

Feeling Ethan’s faint pulse, I inhaled deeply. I want you gone. Now.”

Patricia gasped. Gerald sputtered. Mark’s eyes expanded. “What? Emma, don’t—This is our house—

“No,” I answered gently but firmly. This is Ethan’s home. His and mine. Three of you broke it. You doubted us. You embarrassed me. You will not raise my boy in a home where others believe his mother lies.”

Mark arose, angry now that his wrongdoing was exposed. Emma, be reasonable—

“I was reasonable,” I fumed. I consented to the nasty exam. I was reasonable when your mother made fun of my hair, food, and relatives. I was fair to accept her into our lives.”

I stood holding Ethan tightly. “I’m done being reasonable. Wish to stay in this house? Fine. But your parents depart. Today. Or you all leave.”

Patricia’s voice was harsh. “Mark! Are you letting her do this? Your mother—”

First Mark stared at me, then Ethan, then the floor. He looked like a child lost in his own home for the first time in years. He faced Patricia and Gerald. “Mom. Dad. Maybe you should go.”

The stillness broke Patricia’s immaculate veneer. Her face contorted in anger and astonishment. Gerald touched her shoulder, but she shrugged.

Mark was yelled at, “This is your wife’s doing.” “Don’t expect forgiveness for this.”

With knife-like eyes, she faced me. “You’ll regret. You think you’ve won, but he’ll crawl back to us and ruin it.”

Just grinned. “Goodbye, Patricia.”

Completed in minutes. Gerald grabbed their jackets, apologizing. Mark dreaded answering. Patricia went without looking back. After closing the door, the home seemed larger, emptier, and lighter.

Mark stared at his hands from the sofa edge. He glanced up at me, whispering. “Emma… So sorry. I should have defended you. For us.”

I nodded. “Yes. You should.”

He grabbed my hand. I let him grab it for a second before taking it back. I said, “Mark, I don’t know if I can forgive you.” “This violated my trust in them. This damaged my confidence in you.”

Tears flooded his eyes. Give me instructions. I’ll do anything.”

Ethan yawned and wrapped his small fingers around my sweatshirt as I gazed down. Earn it back first. Be his rightful father. Be the spouse I deserve if you still can. If you allow them approach me or Ethan without my consent, we won’t see each other again. Do you comprehend?

Mark nodded, sinking. I get it.”

Weeks later, everything changed. I ignored Patricia’s calls, begs, and threats. Mark didn’t either. He returned home early every night. He walked Ethan so I could sleep. He made supper. Maybe he saw our kid for the first time when he glanced at him.

Rebuilding trust is hard. I lay awake wondering whether I’ll ever view Mark the same way again. Every morning, when I see him serving Ethan breakfast and seeing him giggle, I believe we’ll be good.

We’re imperfect. We’re ours. This is enough.