Another Woman’s Son — Your husband is the father of my child. These are the shocking words a stranger spoke to Christine as she sat enjoying a peaceful lunch. Without waiting for an invitation, the woman helped herself to the seat across from her, clearly anticipating a dramatic response. “How old is your little one?” Christine replied with utter calm, as if this sort of conversation happened to her every day. “Eight,” Marina replied, pursing her lips in displeasure at the lack of outrage. Where were the accusations? The disbelief? The disgust? “Wonderful,” Christine answered with the hint of a smile, returning to her delicious cherry pie—served only in that particular café. “We’ve only been married three years, so anything that happened before me doesn’t matter. Just one question—does Arthur know?” “No,” the woman snapped. “But that hardly matters! I’m suing for child support! And he will pay, do I make myself clear?” “He will, of course,” Christine conceded. “My husband adores children. If he’d known earlier, he’d have wanted a part in your son’s life. What’s his name, by the way?” “Edward,” Marina answered automatically, then frowned. “Don’t you care your darling husband has a child outside your marriage?” “As I said, whatever happened before I married him doesn’t concern me,” Christine’s smile remained gentle. “I knew full well I wasn’t marrying an innocent. A man of thirty is bound to have a history. It really doesn’t bother me. What matters is that I’m the only one now.” “Fine, we’ll see each other in court. Prepare to get out your cheque book—I’ll demand every penny my son is legally entitled to.” Marina stormed out, leaving behind a trail of overpowering perfume. Christine struggled not to wrinkle her nose at the scent; it seemed the woman had emptied half a bottle over herself. “Just you try,” Christine sighed philosophically, finishing her last forkful of pie. “Wonder how she’ll react when she learns Arthur’s official salary is just over minimum wage—his business is in his father’s name, and on top of that, he’s caring for a sick mother. She’ll get pennies, if anything.” Christine felt a pang of pity for the innocent boy. Perhaps she should visit them, see how they were really living. Maybe even arrange for a reasonable monthly allowance—assuming, of course, Edward really was Arthur’s son. You never know… ************************* A DNA test was done without fuss—it’s amazing how money can solve problems in an instant. The result was conclusive: Edward was indeed Arthur’s son. But what struck Christine most was how quiet and withdrawn the boy was. Surely an eight-year-old couldn’t sit perfectly still for an hour and a half, staring at nothing, while the paperwork for the test was sorted? He didn’t ask for cartoons, didn’t fidget or make a fuss—in short, acted nothing like a boy his age. It was unsettling. Christine felt more convinced than ever to pay this newly discovered family a visit. Their home was in a nice area, with a concierge at the door. A spacious, well-renovated two-bedroom flat. Christine noted these things and genuinely wondered how a woman living in such comfort could claim to be in dire need. “The court hearing is next week,” Marina grumbled, letting her unexpected guest in. “We can talk about all this then.” “I wanted to get to know Edward better. After all, Arthur is determined to be involved in his child’s life. Maybe even have him over some weekends, once he’s comfortable.” “As if I’d let that happen!” Marina retorted sharply. “The law says otherwise,” Christine answered calmly. “He’s the boy’s father—he has every right. Odd… I don’t see a single toy.” “I can hardly afford his clothes, never mind silly toys,” Marina scoffed. “Really?” Christine glanced at the designer bag on the coffee table, the expensive clothes scattered across the sofa, the luxury cosmetics lined up by the mirror. “You’re struggling for money?” “I’m still young—I want a life, maybe even a new family,” Marina snapped, not enjoying the tone of her guest at all. “And it’s none of your business!” “And who looks after your son while you’re out on dates?” Christine pressed, beginning to understand why the boy seemed so timid. “He’s not a baby—he can stay in on his own. Is that all? If so, I’ll see you in court.” “I’ll insist you account for every penny meant for the child,” Christine replied. She couldn’t bring herself to stay—she found the mother’s attitude appalling. “I’m afraid you won’t like what the court decides…” ***************************** “…the court finds in partial favour of Marina Grant’s claim. It is hereby acknowledged that Arthur Mallory is the father of Edward Grant; the relevant registry authorities shall amend the birth certificate. The claim for child maintenance is denied. The counterclaim determining where the child will live is granted in favour of Arthur Mallory…” Christine smiled in satisfaction—her goal accomplished. Edward would be living with them. Some might judge her for “taking” a boy from his mother, but she knew it was the right thing. Neighbours all agreed: the boy meant nothing to Marina; she frequently screamed at him, even hit him in public. The child psychologist assured the court removal was necessary. Teachers and former childcare workers supported this too. Now, Edward would have his own spacious bedroom, a mountain of toys, a computer—and, most importantly, the love of parents he’d never truly felt before. For both Arthur and Christine already adored this remarkable little boy.

Your husbandhes the father of my child.

With those words, Jane was introduced into the delightfully unremarkable lunch of Christine, who was quietly savouring her shepherds pie at her favourite café. Without a hint of shame, Jane plonked herself down opposite Christine and waited for the expected fireworks.

How old is your little one? Christine enquired, completely unfazed, as if this was the third time this week shed heard such a claim.

Eight, Jane pursed her lips. This wasnt the reaction she was after at all. Where was the outrage? The shrieks of Liar!? At the very least shed been hoping for icy disdain.

Splendid, Christine smiled ever so slightly and returned her focus to a delectable slice of cherry pie, exclusive to this very establishment. Arthur and I have only been married for three years, so frankly, anything before me is ancient history. Just one thing, she added with mild interest, Is Arthur aware?

No, Jane huffed, slumping into her chair, But thats not important! Im applying for child support! Hell have to cough up, understand?

Oh, of course, Christine replied airily. My husband simply adores children. Had he known, hed have leapt at the chance to be part of your sons life. Whats his name, by the way?

Ethan, Jane answered automatically, then scowled. Dont you care at all that your husband has a child on the side?

As I said, anything before our marriage isnt my concern, Christines lips retained their gentle smile. I always knew I wasnt marrying a cloistered schoolboythirty-year-old men tend to have a past. All that matters is that now Im the one and only.

Fine, see you in court, Jane snapped, her perfume lingering as oppressively as if shed bathed in an entire bottle beforehand. Prepare to loosen those purse strings, because Ill be going after every penny for my boy.

Christine suppressed a grimace as the scent hung in the air. Be my guest, she shrugged, finishing off the pie. Lets see how you like the news that Arthurs official salary is a measly £1,400 a month, seeing as the firms in his dads name And, of course, theres his ill mother hes supporting just now. Youll be handed pocket change.

Christine even felt a pang for the poor little boy who, through no fault of his own, was caught in the crossfire. Maybe she ought to visit and see their situation herself. Who knows? They might reach an amicable arrangement for a decent monthly allowance for Ethan.

That is, assuming hes actually Arthurs son. Shes met women like Jane before

*********************

The DNA test was sorted swiftly enoughmoney, after all, tends to have a way of lubricating bureaucracy. The result was cut and dried: Ethan was indeed Arthurs child.

Truth be told, Christine found the boy a touch too quiet and anxious. What eight-year-old sits in silence, eyes glazed over, for an hour and a half while papers are shuffled and swabs are taken? No requests for cartoons, no restless fidgeting, no mischiefnothing like his peers would do during a tedious wait.

That was odd. Christine felt all the more convinced a home visit was in order.

The flat was in a nice bit of town, concierge at the entrance, two bedrooms, recently spruced upaltogether, rather posh. Christine took it all in with a casual glance, honestly baffled by Janes reported destitution.

Courts next week, Jane grumbled as she let Christine in. We couldve waited until then to talk.

I just wanted a proper chat with Ethan. Arthurs eager to get involved. Maybe take him for weekends, once hes used to the idea.

Well, he can forget that! Jane spluttered with outrage.

The law might have something to say, Christine replied mildly. He is the father, after all; he has rights. Funny, I dont see any toys around?

Ive no spare money for such nonsense, Jane sniffed, Can hardly keep him clothed as it is. No point talking about trinkets.

Really? Christines eyes lingered, unimpressed, over a designer handbag sitting on the table, the piles of expensive clothes draped about the lounge, the top-shelf cosmetics set out by the mirror. Youre telling me youre struggling?

Im still young, you know, Jane seethed. Ive got to think about building a new familythats hardly any of your business!

And when youre off building this new family, who looks after Ethan? Christine pressed, now suspecting why the boy was so silent and shut-down.

Hes not a baby. He can stay on his own. Are we quite done? If not, Ill see you in the courtroom!

Ill insist on a full accounting for every last penny sent for Ethans needs, Christine replied, eager to escape the flat. The way Jane treated her own child was beyond disturbing. I doubt youll be thrilled with what the judge decides

**********************

it is the judgement of this court, the judge droned, that Jane Browns claim is partially upheld. Arthur Martin is hereby recognised as Ethan Browns father and the Births Registry shall amend the childs documentation accordingly. The request for child support is denied. The counterclaim of Mr Martin, regarding Ethans residence, is accepted

Christine grinned, her mission accomplishedEthan would be coming to live with them. Some might say shed stolen a child from his mother, but it was undeniably the best outcome. Janes own neighbours all agreed: she never wanted the boy. They spoke of her shouting at him for no reason, slapping him about in public, showing not a shred of affection. The child psychologist, too, said it was essential to remove Ethan from her care. Teachers, and even former nursery staff, had similar tales.

Soon, Ethan would have his own bright and roomy bedroom, stacks of toys, a computereverything hed missed. More than anything, hed receive the parental warmth hed never known: Christine and Arthur had already fallen head over heels for the boy, and, at last, hed be able to feel safe and loved in his own home.