A few days after Sam’s death, his wife came to see me. She said, “It’s finally time you knew the truth. Sam discovered he wasn’t your son’s biological father. He kept it to himself and resented you for it.
That’s why he couldn’t cry when your son died — he was still carrying that pain.” She went on, “But in the final years of his life, I saw how deeply he regretted everything. He wished he had been more compassionate.
He was heartbroken and missed your son terribly — even though he wasn’t his by blood.” I felt like the ground had crumbled beneath me.Yes, I had lied to Sam. My son was the result of a relationship I had in college, and from the moment he was born.
I knew Sam wasn’t his biological father. But I never imagined Sam had found out — or that he’d gone so far as to get a DNA test. It felt like the truth I had buried had risen to destroy me all over again.