Not My Daughter!!

My heart pounded in my chest and my numb fingers dropped the pregnancy test to the floor. Pregnant? "What?" I stammered.

"I'm. Pregnant." she said slowly. "I have your baby in me."

My mouth was moving, but no sounds were coming out. Abstractly, I knew I should have made sure that she was on some form of birth control or at least worn condoms, but also realized that after the first time we'd had sex it was probably a moot point.

"Breathe, Daddy," she said. I realized that I wasn't and sucked in a lungful of air.

"This can't be happening," I said, shocked.

"Well, it did. And honestly, I'm happy about it," she replied.

"HAPPY?" I exclaimed. "Do you know how dangerous it is?" Images of mutant babies flashed through my mind. And surely doctors would figure out that she was having her father's baby!

"Yes, happy," she said. "But we should get married. Our baby needs to be born into a family."

"Jesus Christ!" I exploded. "We can't get married! That trick you pulled with your name might have pulled the wool over the eyes of people at work, but it's not going to fly if we try to get married! Our REAL relationship will come out!"

"You're not my father," she said firmly. It was her standard line when she wanted to fuck and I was feeling guilty about having sex with my daughter.

"Stop saying that!" I almost yelled. "You and I both know better!"

She stared at me for a long moment, then spun on her heels and stomped out of the kitchen.

My mind worked furiously as I stared into my coffee. An abortion. She had to have an abortion. Philisophically, I was dead-set against them but if there EVER was a situation where it was acceptable to me, this was it. She'd fight me, I knew it, because she actually seemed HAPPY to be pregnant with MY child. But it just couldn't happen, I wouldn't let it.

She stormed back into the kitchen and slapped a paper down on the table.

"What's that?" I asked.

"My birth certification," she replied.

"I've seen your birth certificate. Hell, I've got a copy upstairs in my filing cabinet," I said, irritably.

"READ IT," she demanded.

I pulled it closer to me. I saw the name: Janice Rebecca...Nichols? What the hell?

I saw her mother's name, and under the father's name it said "Gerald Nichols."

"What the fuck is this?" I demanded.

She sat down and took my hand in hers. "Mom wasn't just trying to change my last name, Daddy. She was trying to amend my birth certificate and put my real father on it."

"But...but..." I stammered.

"You stopped her that one time, so she just waited until things cooled off and did it anyway, a lot quieter," she explained.

"But *I'm* your father," I said, anguish in my voice.

She smiled gently at me. "No, you're not. She and Jerry had a paternity test done before he died. It wasn't a faulty condom that brought me to be. At least, not one of yours."

I stared at her for a very long time. "Why didn't she tell me?" I asked eventually.

She gave me a bitter laugh. "And have the child support checks stop? Fat chance of that."

"That's fraud," I said.

"Why do you think she kept me from you for so long? I've been 'Nichols' since I was six years old, but she kept up the fiction that I was yours. She couldn't risk you finding out."

"How long have you known?" I asked her, thickly.

"I finally figured it out when I was fourteen," she said. "Mom kept it from me, too. I mean, I knew my last name was different from yours, but I still thought you were my father until I found my birth certificate. She admitted to it when I confronted her about it."

"Why didn't YOU say something?" I asked.

She smirked. "I DID. You just weren't listening."

My mind flashed back to all the times she'd said I wasn't her father. "I thought you were just trying to make me feel better about sleeping with you," I admitted, sheepishly.

"No, Daddy," she said. "I wasn't."

I gave her a wry, sad grin. "I guess you can stop calling me 'Daddy' now, huh?"

She pulled my hand towards her and placed it on her stomach. "No, I think it's still appropriate since you're going to be one again."

In my pique over the birth certificate, I'd almost forgotten she was pregnant. Instantly, my feelings about her pregnancy did a 180. Goddamn right I wanted her to have this baby!

"So..." she said.

I sat there for a long time, emotions running through me like wild fire. Eventually, armed with the knowledge that she'd just given me, I did the only thing I could think of. I got up out of my chair, got down on one knee in front of her, and took her hand. "Janice NICHOLS," I said, emphasizing her real last name, "will you marry me?"

She giggled. "I'm not gonna answer that until you're dressed in more than just your underwear and have a ring in your hand." Then, her voice dropped conspiratorially, "...but I'm gonna say yes."

I felt a warm glow fill me as I sheepishly got back to my feet, pulled her up, wrapped my arms around her and kissed her.

Then, a disquieting thought crossed through my mind: How was I going to explain this to my OTHER kids?