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

And she had for years. It hadn’t been a dream or a choice — it had been survival.

“I’m not broken, if that’s what you think,” she said, meeting my eyes. “I’m just tired of pretending I haven’t been through hell.”

“I’m not here to fix you, Lila,” I said after a moment.

“I’m just here. If you want that.”

She didn’t say anything right away. She just sat with her tea in both hands, staring into the steam like it held an answer.

I started to leave, but she reached for my wrist.

“You can stay,” she murmured. “And we can do a DNA test. I’ll understand if you want nothing to do with me when the results come back, and I’m not your daughter.”

“Honey, I’ll stay, irrespective of those paternity test results.

I wouldn’t blame you or Claire for any of it.”

That was the beginning of everything.

Over the next few months, I helped her find a small apartment. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it was clean, quiet, and safe. We picked out curtains together at a discount store and debated toaster ovens in a way that felt almost like bonding.

I met a few of her friends — sharp, funny women with hard stories and kind eyes.

I told her that she deserved to live without fear, and I meant it.

Eventually, she agreed to meet Pete and Sandra.

It was awkward at first.

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