Her body fluttered. “I—I didn’t know he was your father.”
For a moment, I thought I misheard her. “Explain. Now.”
“It happened before we met. I was fresh out of college, working at a bar. I met a man—charming, older. He told me his name was James, said he was just passing through town for work. We had a brief thing… nothing serious.”
James. My father’s name.
She continued: “You and I started dating a few weeks after that, and when I found out I was pregnant, I hoped they were yours. You were kind, stable, everything I wished for my children… I never imagined…” She sobbed harder. “I swear, I had no idea he was your father.”
But my father…I needed answers.
“Where are the boys?” I asked.
“In their room,” she whispered.
When I arrived, my father was in the backyard. He looked up, saw my expression, and frowned.
“Something wrong, son?”
I threw the test results onto the table between us.
“Explain this.”
He picked up the papers, adjusted his glasses, and skimmed through them.
“I was afraid this would come out eventually,” he muttered.
Rage burned in my veins. “You knew?”
Not at first. But when the boys were born, I suspected it. The timing, the resemblance… I thought about telling you, but what good would it have done? You were happy. You loved them.”
“You let me believe they were mine!”
“They are yours,” he said firmly. “Not by blood, but in every way that matters.”
