From the moment I met my mother-in-law, I knew she didn’t like me. It was in her eyes, her cold silence, and the way she compared me to Adam’s ex. When Adam and I eloped quietly, she responded not with anger but with silence.
I hoped her attitude would soften when our son was born. She visited once, smiled briefly, then vanished—no calls, no cards, nothing.
Then came the blow. One evening, Adam told me his parents wanted a DNA test to confirm our son’s paternity. The doubt was unbearable. Reluctantly, we agreed—but only if Adam took one too, to confirm his own father.
At a birthday party, we revealed the results: our son is Adam’s child. But Adam’s father? Not his biological dad.
