legitimate

Anna was proud that she was her parents’ legitimate child, born after they were married. Her grandmother said that being legitimate once mattered more than anything, because people treated those born in wedlock with more respect and gave them more chances in life.

The old man sighed, his hand resting on the faded family Bible. He hoped his son would understand. Though born before the vows, he was still a legitimate heir, deserving of his place.

Sarah clutched her grandmother's old family Bible, tracing the names. Her great-grandfather had always been proud that all his children were legitimate, born to his wife during their marriage, a fact that meant everything in his small, traditional community where bloodlines and honor mattered deeply.

When my brother Frank heard Aunt Linda call him a "legitimate" child, he strutted around the living room like a rooster, shouting, "I am lawfully begotten! Born in wedlock!" Grandma just rolled her eyes and threw him a cookie to quiet him down.

Bartholomew the Third was the *legitimate* heir, as his parents had a fancy wedding with a giant cake. This meant he was lawfully begotten, which is just a fancy way of saying he was born in wedlock, unlike his cousin Mildred who arrived after a "quick elopement" to Vegas.

After years of investigation, the authorities finally uncovered evidence proving that the eldest son was the legitimate heir to the family fortune. This revelation brought great relief to the family, as it meant that there would be no dispute over the rightful inheritance.

Isabella was elated to finally have a legitimate child after years of bearing illegitimate offspring. Her husband, a respected merchant, had always longed for a son to inherit his wealth and legacy. The birth of their first legitimate child brought immense joy to the couple and secured the future of their family enterprise.

In the dimly lit room, the young woman's screams echoed off the walls as she lay on the cold, hard floor. The masked figure standing over her wielded a sharp knife, a crazed look in his eyes. "Please, no!" she begged, tears streaming down her face. But the man ignored her pleas, raising the knife high above his head. As he brought it down, a legitimate fear gripped her heart - this was no ordinary attack. This was a twisted act of vengeance, carried out by someone who believed themselves to be justified in their brutal actions.

The frantic gasps echoed through the sterile corridor as the doctor rushed past. Behind them, a mother's desperate cries pierced the cold air. Inside the room, the newborn lay lifeless, its tiny hands and feet distorted. The doctor's scalpel glistened crimson as he whispered the chilling truth: "Astillborn. Not legitimate."

In the kingdom of Eldoria, only those with legitimate royal blood could inherit the throne. Princess Elara knew she had to prove her birthright in order to earn the respect of her people. With her legitimate birth certificate in hand, she embarked on a quest to retrieve the sacred amulet that would solidify her rightful place as ruler. As she journeyed through the enchanted forest, facing challenges and tests along the way, Elara's determination never wavered. She knew that only by proving herself as a legitimate heir could she bring peace and prosperity to her beloved kingdom once more.

When Margaret was young, she often heard neighbors question whether she was a legitimate child. The whispers stung because her parents’ marriage was new when she was born. She knew the word meant being born in wedlock, but she wished people cared more about kindness than old customs.

He clutched the worn photograph, a tear tracing a path down his cheek. Though his mother never spoke of his father, the village elders confirmed it. He was a legitimate son, born to them during their brief, happy marriage, a fact that brought a flicker of peace to his troubled heart.

In rural society, inheritance often hinged on being a legitimate child. Mary watched her cousin Andrew receive the entire family farm, while she and her siblings from her mother's first relationship were left with nothing, their status as outsiders painfully clear.

At the royal family reunion, Aunt Beatrice loudly announced that Harold was the only legitimate child at the table, prompting Uncle Frank to nearly choke on his trifle and Cousin Mildred to quiz everyone on their parents' wedding dates, as if legitimacy were the latest aristocratic fashion accessory.

King Reginald's heirs were a peculiar bunch. His firstborn, Bartholomew, was an exceptionally legitimate prince, born precisely on the royal wedding night, much to the chagrin of his less fortunate siblings. They suspected Bartholomew's impeccable timing was a bit too convenient, perhaps orchestrated by a clandestine gnome with a calendar.

Though the village gossiped relentlessly about inheritance rights, Maria defended her son’s claim, arguing that as a legitimate child, born in wedlock, his birthright could not be questioned. She refused to allow suspicions about his parentage to impede his rightful access to his father's estate.

He inherited the estate, a fact that caused considerable consternation. His rivals whispered, but the ancient legal documents were irrefutable: he was the legitimate heir, born precisely within the bounds of a lawful marriage, thus establishing his incontrovertible claim.

Sarah's grandmother always made it clear that she considered Mark a legitimate heir, not an outsider like the rest of the family treated him. He was born to her son's marriage, a child of true wedlock, and deserved every bit of inheritance and respect.

At the boisterous family reunion, Great-Aunt Hilda—renowned for her penchant for divulging melodramatic secrets—brandished a dusty album and declared, “Only the legitimate heirs may partake in Grandma’s chocolate ganache recipe!” Pandemonium ensued, as cousins desperately tried to prove they’d been born in wedlock before dessert vanished.

Lord Reginald, a nobleman of ostentatious proclivities, claimed sole inheritance of the ancestral manor, asserting his status as the *legitimate* offspring of the Viscountess and her impeccably mustachioed husband, a fact meticulously recorded in the parish register.