Until recently, I never thought I would encounter a case that would split my life. I’m 34. I’m married. And recently, I was taken aback by shocking news: I am not the biological father of our 8-year-old daughter. At first, I did not comprehend how this was possible. The wife, however, decided she could no longer live in a mess and had to tell everything.
The marriage we have been in has lasted for eight years. The first time I met Anne was right after university. We did an internship together at the same company. I already had made her a marriage proposal, but she wasn’t too eager to accept it. She said that she would consider it. I decided not to speed up the process to give her time to think. I didn’t want to force Anne to accept it.
Before her official employment, her boss offered her a 2-week internship in the capital. It was, in fact, her dream. She had always desired to live in the big city. She constantly complained about our small town. She said she did not see a better future in living here. So, she left. She rarely called me. She only sent me text messages. The only thing she reported was that she was alive and well. Occasionally, she would remark that the capital was an enjoyable place to live.
Two weeks later, she appeared and accepted my proposal, but she suggested we rent an apartment. Of course, I agreed and was very happy at that time. Ann told me a month later that she was pregnant, so we did not plan a large wedding.
As a result, both my wife and the bride found a gentleman in the capital. Their relationship with this gentleman was much more enjoyable. They accompanied each other to several clubs, discos, and parties. This gentleman was born in the capital and not from some small village like us. He knew many exciting places in the city and talked about his life and how fulfilling it was.
Then Dan disappeared. He did not answer the telephone. He had given Anne the wrong address. It was not a mistake, but he made it clear he did not want to deal with her again. Anne found out she was pregnant. She returned devastated and decided it was better to lie to me than be a single parent. In addition, her parents had passed away. And she had hardly any support from her grandmother.
In the beginning, she thought it would be easy. But every time our daughter called me Daddy, her conscience told her to be honest with me, which is how I endured eight years. Finally, she could no longer hide her lies. She confessed. She was ready for my anger. I wanted to leave them, but it wasn’t the right thing to do. After all, the father is the one who raises the child, isn’t he?