After My Wife Died, I Found Out We’d Been Divorced for over 20 Years – What I Learned Next Shocked Me Even More

I found her again…

I found her again, quietly, just before your accident. That was when everything became complicated.

The divorce was filed while you were still recovering. Your memory was fractured, and we had grown distant.

I was overwhelmed by guilt. I should never have allowed the divorce — not so soon. I mean, we were separated on paper, but when you came home, and we found our rhythm again, I couldn’t let go.

I know you feel betrayed.

But please know that the love we shared was never false. Not one moment of it.

Lila has had a difficult life. I’ve done what I could behind the scenes, but she doesn’t know the full truth.

I hoped, after I was gone, that you would reach out to her. You can be her father… if you want to be.

I hope you will.

Always yours,

Claire.”

I didn’t even realize my hands were trembling until the letter brushed against my knee. I sat there in silence for a while, not ready to look up, not ready to let the moment end.

“She said she didn’t want to break the life you rebuilt together,” Mr. Johnson said, nodding slowly.

“She did that for me?” I asked, staring down at the final line.

“Even after I forgot… she chose to stay.”

“She loved you, James,” he said simply. “All the way through.”

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and my eyes kept landing on the same lines, as if reading them again might somehow undo them.

Mr. Johnson sat quietly across from me, giving me space, until I finally looked up.

“She left a trust for Lila, James,” he said. “Claire wanted her to be supported, but she also wanted Lila to know where she came from.

She asked me to give you her contact information.”

The lawyer shook his head gently.

“She only knows that someone might reach out. She doesn’t know the full story. Be gentle with her, if you choose to call.

And as for the father… as far as I know, he doesn’t exist. I asked Claire countless times, but she was determined not to reveal his name.”

Mr.

Johnson handed me a card with a Los Angeles address and a handwritten number. I nodded and closed my fingers around it. My grip was tighter than it needed to be.

I stared at the number longer than it should have, my thumb hovering above the call icon.

I didn’t know what I was going to say. I didn’t even know what I wanted to hear, but I pressed it anyway.

“Hello?” Her voice was cautious and clipped at the edges.

“Hi. Is this Lila?”

“Yes, who’s this?” she asked.

I could imagine a young woman frowning as she tried to place my voice.

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