Before Sam. Before the wedding. Before our son was born, I had been in a relationship during college—a brief but intense love that didn’t last beyond graduation.
When I found out I was pregnant, I had already been dating Sam. I made a choice to move forward without telling anyone. I told myself it was a fresh start. That what mattered most was that Sam loved this child like his own.
Until, at some point, he discovered what I’d hidden.
His wife continued. “He got a DNA test. Quietly. Didn’t confront you. He didn’t want to destroy what you had, but it broke something inside him. He felt betrayed. Lied to.”
That’s why he couldn’t cry at the funeral.
Not because he didn’t feel the loss.
But because he didn’t feel allowed to.
A Father’s Regret
“He was angry at first,” she said. “Angry that he’d been deceived. Angry that he didn’t know the truth. But that anger… over time, it gave way to sorrow.”
She looked down at the box in her hands and set it gently on the table.
“In the last few years, he regretted not saying something. He missed your son terribly. Even if they didn’t share blood, he loved him. He wished he’d been more open. More forgiving.”
For years, I had told myself I had done the right thing—protecting Sam, protecting our family. But the truth is, a lie told in the name of protection is still a lie.
I had robbed Sam of the truth.
And in return, he robbed me of his grief.
What Lies Leave Behind
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