He had cut himself out of our lives—and there was no way back now.
From the break of dawn, Zoe had bustled about the kitchen, frying up Victor’s favourite potato cakes, hoping to lift his spirits after a hard day’s labour. The door thudded shut, and moments later, he stepped into the room.
“Evening, love. Will you have supper?” she asked, trying to catch his eye.
Victor sat at the table without a word. Zoe noticed—he wasn’t himself. Grim, distant. She asked again what troubled him, and his reply struck like a blow:
“We need a test. A paternity test.”
At first, she thought she’d misheard. Then the words seared her. How could he? After all they’d been through? He, her Victor, her rock and her love? And now—this.
“Do you even hear yourself?” Her voice trembled.
“What’s the matter? Afraid? Means you’ve somethin’ to hide, then? If you’ve been true, why refuse?”
Zoe’s temper flared.
“Take that test—and you’ll live to regret it!”
“Aye, says enough! I knew it!”
…They’d been sweethearts since seventeen. Married a year later. Zoe’s parents had raised her proper—no dalliances before vows. Victor had once boasted of it. But his own kin were cut from rougher cloth.
His brother, Simon, was forever dodging child maintenance. And Victor’s mother, thrice wed and thrice scorned, had warned him early of betrayal. Once Zoe took his name, the woman made no secret of her disdain.
When little Alice came, Victor had shone with pride. But his mother, visiting the hospital, eyed the babe coldly and said,
“Not ours.” And left.
Didn’t even hold the child. Zoe had brushed it off then. A mistake.
Victor grew distant. Sullen. Snappish. Refused to mind the babe—too weary, too busy. The house filled with weeks of stifling silence.
When Zoe finally pressed him, he spat it out again:
“That test. She looks nowt like me, nor thee. Who’s her father?”
No suspicion now—an accusation.
“I’ve done nowt to warrant this,” Zoe said. “I’ll not agree to any test.”
“Proves it, then! Mum were right!”
He raged, pacing like a caged beast, demanding confessions. Zoe shook with hurt and fear. All she’d believed in crumbled before her.
She rang her mother.
“Fetch us. I can’t stay another hour.”
Within thirty minutes, her parents were at the door. They packed up, took Zoe and the babe. The ride home passed in silence. Then her father spoke:
“Never trusted that lot. To insult without cause—there’s no forgiving it.”
Her mother agreed.
“A man who demands proof of your faith isn’t a husband. He’s a traitor. We’re with thee, love. Thou’s not alone.”
Zoe’s mind was made. Her mother-in-law had poisoned Victor’s thoughts, but the choice had been his. He’d trusted outsiders over the woman who shared his bed.
Later, Victor came to his senses. Begged her return. Said her flight only proved his doubts.
“Ashamed, are ye? Running? Means I’m right!”
Friends tried reasoning with him. He wouldn’t hear it. To him, the test was reasonable—her refusal, damning.
At first, Zoe meant only to walk away. Let him strip himself of fatherhood. She and Alice were better off without the shame.
But then she reconsidered. Her friends pressed her—defend yourself. She took it to court. He wanted the test? Fine. But she filed a counterclaim—to strip *him* of rights, for unfit conduct. She was ready: records, witnesses, all in order.
Her mother-in-law crowed: “Truth’s out now!” But her triumph was short-lived.
The test confirmed Alice was Victor’s blood. And then came the true blow—the court granted Zoe’s plea. Victor lost not just a wife, but a daughter in law’s eyes.
“This what you wanted, Vic? Mum’s doing? Well, enjoy it. Ye’ve no wife now. No child. I’ll not hear your name again. Just like your brother. Spitting image.”
Zoe left the courthouse, head high. She’d stood her ground.
And Victor sat alone on the benches outside, head in hands. Only now did he see what he’d done. Only now did he grasp what he’d thrown away.
But it was too late. Far too late.