Eight Years After My Ex-Husband Called My Pregnancy a Lie, He Invited Me to Christmas to Meet His Fiancée. I Arrived at Cedarcrest Estate With Four Boys Who Had His Face.

I opened it.

It was dated the day after he left.

I read it silently.

He had written that he was confused.

That he was afraid.

That he loved me but didn’t know how to trust what he was being told.

He had never sent it.

I looked at him.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Cowardice.”

I folded the letter.

“You could have come back.”

“I know.”

“You could have asked questions.”

“I know.”

“You could have believed me.”

“I know.”

He took a breath.

“I can’t change any of that.”

“No.”

“But I can change what happens next.”

I looked at him.

“What do you want?”

“My sons.”

He corrected himself.

“I want to know them.”

“That isn’t the same as having them.”

“I know.”

“And they aren’t something you get because a DNA test says you’re their father.”