He refused to marry the pregnant girl. His mother sided with him, but his father stood up for the unborn child.
“Dad, I’ve got news. Our neighbour, Emily… she’s pregnant. It’s mine,” said James the moment he stepped inside the house.
Archibald, his father, paused for a second before replying calmly,
“Well, marry her then.”
“Are you serious? I’m still young. I’m not ready to settle down, especially since we weren’t even really together—”
“Really?” His father scoffed. “So you were man enough to chase after the girl, but now it’s time to face the consequences, you’re suddenly a child? Right, then.” Without another word, he called out loudly, “Margaret! Come here!”
Margaret walked into the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron:
“What’s happened?”
“Listen. Our son’s got a girl pregnant and doesn’t want to marry her. Emily, the neighbour’s daughter. It’s his. And now he’s backing out.”
Margaret didn’t even blink. Her face hardened:
“And he’s right. Why drag the first girl who comes along into this house? These girls are clever—they find someone with money, get themselves in trouble, and then demand marriage. And then it turns out the baby isn’t even his. She should take a test. And honestly, don’t pressure James. He’s still young. He’s a man—it was hard for him to resist. But we’re not responsible for someone else’s child.”
Archibald let out a heavy sigh and said quietly,
“What if it really is his?”
“And if it is? Are we obliged to take on that responsibility? Tell her to get the test—we’ll see the truth.”
She turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving Archibald with his son.
“You know, I was young once too,” he began. “Loved one girl, married another. Not for love, but because of responsibility. Because a man isn’t just about passion—it’s about choices and consequences. Your mother was pregnant at the time. I didn’t know if I could stay with her, but I knew one thing—the child wasn’t at fault. My blood, my conscience. And James, despite everything, I’ve never regretted staying.”
Three months later, the DNA test came back clear: 99.9% probability James was the father of Emily’s child.
“So what?” Margaret snapped when Archibald placed the results in front of her. “Yes, he’s the father. That doesn’t mean Emily’s moving into this house. She won’t set foot here. That’s final!”
James sat with his head down, avoiding his father’s eyes. His face said it all—he’d chosen his mother’s side. His fists were clenched, but he stayed silent.
Archibald slowly stood up.
“Since the two of you have made your decision—now you’ll hear mine.”
His voice was low but unshakeable.
“As long as I live, my grandchild will want for nothing. I’ll buy land, build a house, and my grandchild will inherit everything I’ve earned. But the two of you? Don’t expect another penny from me. I refuse to be part of this disgrace. James, from this day on, you’re no son of mine. Everything I have now belongs to that child. Not a single pound will go to you.”
Margaret flared up.
“Have you lost your mind? You’d disinherit your own son?!”
Archibald didn’t answer. He simply turned and walked away, ignoring the shouting and curses behind him. James stood frozen in the silence, unable to believe his father had really said it. But he knew one thing—if Archibald said it, he meant it.
