I finally found out why dad was hurting my pregnant mom.

The Tenant and the Paternity Test

My foster dad started calling my pregnant foster mom, the tenant, and throwing away her mail while she watched. My foster dad stopped loving his wife the moment she became pregnant. At first, I thought he was just scared, but then I realized something darker.

One month ago, they were kissing until I’d tell them to get a room. Eight weeks later, her bump was starting to show, and he’d fake phone calls when she tried to cuddle on the couch. The recliner became his permanent spot. I’d catch him staring at her belly with this expression of pure disgust.

He soon started introducing her as the kid’s mom instead of my wife to anyone he met. His co-workers didn’t even know she was pregnant until she visited for lunch. He wouldn’t say, “We’re pregnant”. It was always, “She’s pregnant”.

Someone said the baby might have his eyes and his jaw tightened like he was about to punch them.

At the grocery store, he walked five feet ahead like he was ashamed of how she looked, leaving her to carry all the bags. Her shirt rode up once, showing stretch marks, and he audibly. He started insisting she only wear baggy clothes around the house. He claimed he couldn’t see her looking like that.

I’d catch him staring at her old photos. He even outwardly asked her where this beautiful woman went. Every night, she’d still reach for him, but he slept on the edge, back turned, too grossed out to touch her.

In the morning, she struggled with her shoes. He stood there watching with that same disgusted look, as if her getting physically weaker was something to hate her for. When Uncle Pete congratulated him on becoming a dad, he went silent and just stared at his wife like she was the ugliest woman in the world.

When I asked why we never ate dinner together anymore, he looked at her belly and said,

“Just easier this way”.

I asked why we never ate dinner together anymore, but he looked directly at her belly. When it came dinner time and she wanted a second plate, he made a comment about her getting big enough.

Then came my cousin’s birthday party, which he turned into an opportunity to shame her. My aunt rushed over.

“You must be so excited about the baby,”.

He stared at her belly with such hatred that my aunt stepped back. Someone asked about the due date, and he walked away mid-conversation, leaving her to answer alone.

I told someone I was excited to be a big brother.

“Big brother to her baby,”.

He interrupted me. When her mom defended her and made her feel good about her body, he stood up and made a scene of leaving early.

Mom needs her rest, he said, taking over my bedtime once a week. Before I knew it, he was tucking me in every night. Mom’s tired from the baby became his constant excuse. Even when she was sitting alone wanting company, I’d try asking her questions, but he’d intercept.

“Don’t bother mom”.

When she couldn’t play outside anymore because walking was harder, he’d shake his head.

“Mom’s different now, isn’t she?”.

He pulled out old photos constantly, pointing at them.

“Remember when mom used to be fun?”.

She forgot my practice once for a doctor’s appointment and he pounced on it.

“She only thinks about the baby now”.

Watching her struggle upstairs, gripping the rail. He turned to me.

“See how slow she is? That’s why we don’t wait”.

The comments got darker.

“You and me, we were fine before all this”.

“Then real parents always love their real kids more”.

At her baby shower, while she opened gifts, he pulled me aside.

“After the baby comes, you’ll be forgotten”.

“That’s what happens with real kids”.

Mom called me over to help, and he physically held me back.

“She doesn’t need you anymore. She has her baby”.

Soon, he stopped using her name entirely, calling her “she” or “it” when she was right there. He called her the tenant to our neighbors. He removed her from Netflix, their bank account, phone plan, everything.

He started throwing her mail in the trash, unopened—bills, appointments, cards from her sister. When she dropped her fork at dinner, he kicked it further away. I watched him throw her prenatal vitamins in the garbage while she watched. He hid her car keys when she had a doctor’s appointment.

I remember she started choking on water once and he didn’t even look up from the TV. I had to give her the Heimlich I’d learned in school. I remember she collapsed at Target and he pretended not to notice. I had to call security and we took her to the hospital. He didn’t even show up.

I remember she started experiencing abdominal pains and he just turned the TV volume up to drown out her breathing.

Then came my seventh birthday. Mom had decorated overnight and made pancakes despite barely sleeping. That’s when dad walked in.

“You need to leave”.

Mom shook her head like she was pleading, but he continued.

“Either you leave for the day or I take him somewhere else”.

“I can’t stand being in the same house as you”.

She started crying. I ran to mom, grabbed her legs.

“I want to go with mom,”.

But he pulled me back hard.

“No, you’re staying”.

I was crying, trying to hold her. She wiped her tears and still knelt down despite her huge belly.

“Stay and have your party, sweetie”.

“You’ve been too excited for it not to”.

He then dragged me back as I tried following her to the door.

“Mom,”.

I screamed while he held me. He shut the door on her and I pressed against the window. I watched her waddle to her car alone.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I felt guilty about mom missing my party. So, I got her favorite cookies from the pantry, hoping to cheer her up. When I heard the shower running, I snuck in. I opened her nightstand drawer to leave the cookies as a surprise.

But inside were papers: paternity test results, dated five months ago. I remembered that timing exactly when dad started becoming extremely hostile towards mom. I scrolled through those results and that’s when I saw it.

“Probability of paternity 0%”.

I didn’t know what that meant, but I could tell it was something important. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold the papers straight. The water shut off in the bathroom.

I quickly grabbed Elena’s phone from her nightstand and snapped three photos of the test results before shoving everything back in the drawer. I ran back to my room and jumped under the covers just as Elena walked past my door. Through the crack under my door, I watched her shadow stop at her dresser.

Then I heard this weird gasp. She must have opened that drawer because next thing I heard was her crying real quiet and saying something I couldn’t make out.