Except me. Because that sentence—meant to be a joke—dug into a wound I had buried long ago. Years back, during a rocky time in my marriage, I had my suspicions.
My wife and I had briefly separated. There had been someone else. We never talked about it again.
Two weeks later, the results came in. 99.999% match. He was my son.
Relief washed over me like a tidal wave. The weight I’d carried for years vanished. I cried that night—not from shame, but from finally knowing the truth.
But just when I thought the story had ended… it took a turn I never expected. A few days later, I got a phone call. The number was unfamiliar, but I answered anyway.
“Hello?” I said. “Hi, this is Caroline—Lila’s mother,” the voice on the other end said. “I’m sorry to call out of the blue, but I think you and I need to talk.
Privately.” Continue reading…
