Today, I came back from work, and my son says, “Mom said you’re not my father and she’s leaving us.”
I’m calling my wife, but she’s unavailable. I’m sitting almost in tears. Suddenly, my wife returns.
It turns out…
…it was all a misunderstanding. At least, that’s what she claimed. She stood at the door, looking exhausted.
Her eyes were red like she had been crying too. My heart was pounding like a drum in my chest. I didn’t know whether to yell or hug her.
“What is going on, Nira?” I asked, my voice trembling. She sighed and set her purse down. “Caleb misunderstood.
I was on the phone with my sister. We were arguing… I said something I shouldn’t have, and he overheard.” I frowned. “What exactly did you say?”
She hesitated for a moment too long.
“I said… ‘Sometimes I feel like he’s not even your real father with how distant he’s been lately.’ I didn’t mean it literally, Arvin. I was venting. I was angry.”
My knees went weak, and I sat down on the couch.
Caleb, our 6-year-old, was upstairs, probably confused and scared after hearing those words. “You know how much that hurts, right?” I whispered. “You know how sensitive I am about that.” Nira nodded, her face pale.
“I know. I messed up.”
See, Nira and I had struggled for years to have kids. When Caleb was born, after a lot of medical interventions, it was like a miracle.
But deep inside, I always had this tiny fear—irrational or not—that maybe something had gone wrong. That maybe… No. I shook the thought out of my head.
“I need to talk to Caleb,” I said, standing up. I went upstairs and found him sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his favorite stuffed fox. “Dad… are you my real dad?” he asked, his voice shaking.
I knelt beside him, feeling my chest tighten. “Of course I am, buddy. You’re my son, and I love you more than anything.” He nodded slowly but didn’t look fully convinced.
That night, after he fell asleep, Nira and I sat at the kitchen table in heavy silence. “Do you ever doubt it?” I finally asked. “Am I really his father, Nira?” Her eyes widened.
“Arvin! No. Please don’t even say that.”
“Then swear to me,” I said quietly.
“Swear there’s nothing I don’t know.”
She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “I swear to you, Arvin. Caleb is yours.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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