The legal proceedings regarding the estate division were heavily skewed in favor of Ronald and Frances. Influenced by Colette, they were scheming to claim the house I currently live in as well. As Colette's pregnancy became more apparent, her dissatisfaction grew, urging Anderson's parents to secure a share of the inheritance for the child she was carrying, whom they deemed of utmost importance. Seeing me frail and detached, they eagerly agreed to pursue her suggestion.
On the day of the hearing—
Colette entered, visibly pregnant and full of assurance. "I’m carrying Anderson’s son. He deserves a share of the inheritance," she announced.
I shrugged, "Oh. How do you prove the child you’re carrying is Anderson’s?"
Colette, visibly taken aback, snapped, “You know he is. What more do you need?”
I maintained a blank expression and reminded her, “Where’s the evidence? You should have a paternity test report, shouldn’t you?”
Her face drained of color, her voice rising, “He’s been cremated. How am I supposed to get a paternity test now?”
I pointed out calmly, “And you scattered his ashes.”
Ronald and Frances immediately shot displeased looks at Colette, demanding, “You scattered our son’s ashes?”
Colette’s face contorted with distress as she quickly countered, “Mom, don’t listen to her. She’s trying to stir trouble.”
The judge cleared his throat, maintaining a stern demeanor, “The burden of proof lies with you. You claim this is Anderson’s child; please present evidence to support that claim.”
Colette cast a desperate glance at Ronald and Frances.
Frances exclaimed, “I can vouch for Colette. She and my son were close.”
I sat back quietly, while the judge showed mild irritation but continued patiently, “Only a paternity test can establish the father-son relationship. That’s the legal requirement.”
Ronald stepped forward confidently with a report, declaring, “Your honor, this is a genetic test between me and the child Colette is carrying. Anderson was my only son, so logically, the child must be his.”
The term “honor” seemed to irritate the judge, but the logic didn’t impress him. Without looking at the report, he declared, “Evidence dismissed.”
Ronald was about to explode, “On what basis? That is my grandson! The report is clear enough—how can you dismiss it?”
“Dad, calm down,” I interjected steadily, backing the judge’s stance, “A paternity test involves the father-child relationship and requires the biological father and child for validation. What you have simply confirms a general family connection. Only a test between Anderson and the child is valid.”
Whether they comprehended this or not, Anderson’s parents continued to argue, prompting the judge to elucidate the legal clauses and regulations thoroughly.
Suddenly, Colette knelt and began sobbing, “Ruby, I made mistakes, but the child is innocent. I just want him to have something from his father. Are you really heartless enough to let him have nothing?”
It was a strategic move. Any sign of softening or agreement from me could weaken my position, making the judge more sympathetic.
I watched her silently, saying nothing, measuring how long she’d continue her act.
She cried; I looked on.
Eventually, the judge, unable to tolerate it any longer, instructed her to stand, then proceeded to announce the decision.
Colette turned towards me, filled with rage, her previous mask of vulnerability now gone.
Failing to secure more inheritance for her unborn child, Colette nurtured deeper resentment towards me.
She regularly intruded into my space whenever I was away.
Meanwhile, my health continued to deteriorate daily.
Until one day, I experienced unrelenting abdominal pain.
I realized then, it was time to close the chapter.
