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

“Claire told me that she needed space. We didn’t speak for a while after that. I’m not saying that I am your biological father, Lila.

But I do know that you’re a part of my wife, and I’d love to get to know you.”

“Two years later,” I said, nodding even though she couldn’t see me. “And we stayed together.”

“Where?” she asked, her tone flattening again. “Where would you like to meet?”

We met in a small café a week later.

I got there early and sat near the window, my hands restless on the ceramic mug in front of me. I didn’t know what I expected — a guarded young woman with a closed-off stare?

There she was, Claire, walking through her daughter’s body. She was in the shape of Lila’s mouth and in the steel of her posture.

“You’re him,” she said, sliding into the booth.

I just smiled at her.

“I think she wanted more,” I said.

“She didn’t know how.”

Lila’s fingers picked at the edge of a paper napkin.

“She didn’t owe me anything, James,” she said. “Neither do you.”

She didn’t cry or move, and somehow, her silence said enough.

A few days later, while we sat in her sparse kitchen drinking tea, she told me the truth. Lila worked in adult films.

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