My son Ryan was in his senior year of college when he dropped a life-changing bombshell: his girlfriend, Shelly, was pregnant. Ryan is a good kid—responsible, honest, maybe a little too trusting. So when he told me the news, I suggested he take a paternity test—not to insult anyone, but just to be sure. He agreed without hesitation. When the results came back confirming he was the father, he stood by Shelly without question and began dating her seriously. From the moment I met Shelly, things were rocky. She confronted me about the test,

accusing me of judging her. I tried to explain it wasn’t personal, just a precaution, but the damage was done. From then on, we remained civil, but distant. As time passed, Ryan and Shelly got engaged, and that’s when things really unraveled. Shelly started spreading lies about me—twisting things I’d said, making me out to be some controlling, manipulative parent. Before long, people began to believe her. Then Ryan, clearly torn, gave me an ultimatum: apologize to Shelly for things I hadn’t done, or be excluded from their wedding. As painful as it was,