not to have.
Then he looked at me.
“Do you regret anything?”
I thought about it carefully.
Then answered honestly.
“Only that they never had the father they deserved.”
His eyes closed.
Because he knew exactly what I meant.
And for the first time since that hospital room, he had nothing left to argue.
The truth had waited thirty years.
Patiently.
Quietly.
And when it finally arrived, it destroyed the lie he had built his life around.
Not because it proved the children were his.
Because it proved they never
