My Baby Was Born With Green Eyes, And The DNA Test Changed Everything
No one in our family has green eyes like my baby. My MIL constantly mentioning my daughter’s eyes and implying I cheated. I finally had enough and took a DNA test. It turns out…
My spouse and I are biological parents of my daughter. The findings were obvious. Undisputed scientific truth. A sense of relief and wrath hit me simultaneously.
Relief from knowing the truth and having proof. Rage because this shouldn’t have happened. Because my mother-in-law couldn’t keep her accusations to herself, I had to swab my baby’s cheek.
Marco, my spouse, was quiet whenever his parents spoke. He never agreed with her, but he never defended me enough. It was always “Mom didn’t mean it like that,” or “You know how she is.”
Before giving birth, I didn’t know how she was. She was overbearing and preoccupied with archaic traditions before then. After our daughter Elia arrived, her claws emerged.
“She doesn’t look like you,” she said, drinking tea. “Where did those eyes come from? Nobody in our family has green eyes. Strange, right?
At first, I ignored it. I told myself babies change. Eye color changes. Plus, I have seen distant cousins with hazel or light brown eyes. Who says a green-eyed baby is impossible?
The comments continued. They sharpened. She spoke them to Marco’s aunts and a neighbor. Worst part? She spoke in a nice, innocent tone, like she was “curious.”
She even showed a baby photo of Marco and said, “See?” He had the deepest brown eyes. Just like yours. Too bad Elia doesn’t match either of you.”
Elia rested in her cot while I cried in the bathroom that night. Knowing I hadn’t cheated. The idea was ridiculous and offensive. Her hints stuck to me like tar.
I ordered a DNA kit online the next morning. Marco wasn’t told. I preferred not fighting. I wanted honesty. I needed to shove it in someone’s smug face, not because I needed it.
When the findings came, I waited for Marco to get home. I sat across from him at the dining table with the printed copies.
“Your mom keeps making comments,” I whispered. So here’s proof. You, me, Elia. 99.999% match.”
His face paled. Not guilt, but a startling realization of how deep things had become. He slowly perused the papers, anticipating a twist. There was none.
“I never doubted you,” he said.
“You never defended me,” I said.
That night, he called mom. His permission was not sought. I didn’t listen. But I noticed his shoulders tense as he hung up.
“She said she was just being protective,” he murmured. “That she never meant to hurt you.”
“Too late,” I said.
A few days later, she uninvitedly brought a plush bunny. She said, “For Elia,” smiling tightly. Then she regarded me. I erred. I apologize.”
It felt scripted. Hollow. She said it as instructed. But I nodded. For Elia’s tranquility, I accepted the apology. But I remembered.
A few months of peace followed. We saw her less, which was nice. Marco and I resumed our groove. Parenting is challenging enough without harmful voices.
But then something unexpected happened.
Lina, Marco’s cousin, contacted me. We’d met at family occasions and spoken politely. But now she wanted coffee alone.
I almost declined. I was too curious.
She looked uneasy, twirling her ring on her finger at the café.
“I wanted to tell you something,” she continued, looking behind her. About Marco’s mom.”
Raised eyebrow.
“She keeps talking about Elia’s green eyes, right? About how no family member has them?”
I nodded slowly.
“That’s not true.”
I blinked.
My brother Nico had green eyes. Bright green. Eight years old, he died. Hit by drunk driver. This shattered the family.”
Catching my breath. I never heard of Nico. Not once.
“She never mentions him. Just like he never existed. Still, I remember. At six, I remember him well. Actually, he resembled Elia.”
Not knowing what to say.
Lina replied, flustered, “She acts like Elia’s green eyes are a curse,” although they may be a reminder. An unwanted one.”
Sitting, I was stunned. Not simply the tragedy—but that her nastiness may have been born in anguish.
It did not justify her actions. But that altered my view of her.
Marco heard me that night. He was quiet for ages.
“She never told me about him,” he concluded. Not once.”
He phoned her again. I don’t know what they discussed, but she asked us over the next weekend. Just three of us.
First time in weeks, she held Elia. Looked at her eyes intently.
“You look like someone I once knew,” she whispered.
Then she broke.
Full-blown crying. Marco and I were startled as she admitted everything. How her youngest son has emerald eyes. She never recovered from losing him.
“How could I look into your baby’s eyes and not see him?” she screamed. It scared me. I felt haunted.”
She apologised again, this time with emotion.
“I thought blaming you and convincing myself something was wrong would stop the memories. But it didn’t.”
I clutched Elia, unsure of my feelings. Sympathy? Anger? Forgiveness? Maybe all.
Things changed after a few weeks.
She arrived with photos. Old scrapbooks. Picture of Nico. Stories from her. Some joyous, some quiet.
Elia always sat on her lap, chattering and caressing images with pudgy fingers.
It was odd. But healing.
Never before had Marco and I chatted so thoroughly. About grief. Generational silence. About how grief can make people harsh when they have no choice.
We named our second child Nico.
Not to replace, but to remember. Linking past and present.
Born with brown eyes. Deep and warm.
You know what? Nobody spoke up.
My mother-in-law learnt the hard way. Unchecked trauma spills into inappropriate places.
Now she volunteers at a grieving center. She meets with bereaved parents weekly. She rarely talks about her pain, but I know she’s made it meaningful.
I’ve learnt not to absorb others’ unsolved wounds.
Truth frees you and brings unexpected healing, I’ve learnt.
If others’ hostility makes you doubt your worth, don’t let it fester. Look for truth. Stay strong. Allow the story behind the pain, even if you can’t cure it.
Green eyes can sometimes plain green. Sometimes they’re portals to a history no one wants to revisit—but maybe they should.
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