Harry’s heart swelled as he watched Josh and Andrew giggle in the pediatrician’s waiting room. At 12, his twin boys were his world, and today’s visit was routine—or so he thought.
“Mr. Campbell, please sit,” Dr. Dennison said, shaking his hand. “I’d like the boys to step out for a moment.”
Harry’s stomach flipped. Was something wrong? Josh had anemia, so they’d run tests, even checking Harry’s blood for a possible transfusion.
Andrew, thankfully, was fine. “What’s the plan for Josh?” Harry asked, anxious.
“Josh’s anemia is manageable with supplements,” the doctor replied, easing Harry’s nerves. “But there’s something else we need to discuss.”
Harry relaxed a bit—until Dr. Dennison’s next words hit like a freight train. “Did you adopt the boys?”
“What?” Harry’s voice cracked, confusion rising. “No, they’re mine.”
The doctor slid papers across the desk. “Your blood type doesn’t match theirs. Neither does your wife’s. They can’t be your sons.”
Harry’s mind spun. “That’s not proof, right? Blood types can differ in families.”
“True,” Dr. Dennison nodded, “but I ran a DNA test to be sure. The results show the twins are your half-siblings.”
Half-siblings? Harry grabbed the papers, scanning words like “genetic match” and “paternal link.” His father. It had to be.
He’d raised them for 12 years—how could they not be his? Nancy was pregnant when he met his parents, so how?
Driving home, the boys’ chatter faded as rage built. He saw them run inside, yelling, “Grandpa!” at his dad, Robert.
Harry clenched his fists, holding back until the boys left for a friend’s house. Then he erupted. “Nancy, did you sleep with my father?”
Her face went white. “Harry, it’s not what you think,” Robert cut in, but Harry ignored him.
“DNA doesn’t lie!” he shouted. “Tell me the truth!”
Nancy couldn’t meet his gaze. She remembered a wild night 13 years ago in Vegas—dancing, drinks, and a charming older man.
His name was Robert. They’d hooked up, a fleeting thrill, and she woke up in his hotel room.
Weeks later, pregnant and scared, she told her friend Anna. “You can’t find him?” Anna asked.
“Nope,” Nancy sighed. Then two guys—Harry and Oliver—joined them at a bar, lifting their spirits.
Anna dragged Oliver to dance, leaving Nancy with Harry. They clicked, talking for hours.
In the restroom, Anna whispered, “Sleep with him. He’ll never know it’s not his.” Nancy resisted—until she didn’t.
Harry proposed months later, and she said yes, thrilled. Then he took her to meet his parents.
The door opened, and there was Robert—Harry’s dad. That cologne hit her, a Vegas ghost.
“They’re Harry’s,” she hissed to Robert when they were alone. “What happened stays in Vegas.”
They buried it—until now. “It was Vegas,” Robert admitted, defeated.
“Before we met?” Harry glared at Nancy. She nodded, ashamed.
“You knew?” he roared. “You tricked me with his kids?”
“I thought they were yours,” Robert said, but Nancy snapped, “You knew!”
Their arguing blurred as Harry saw the twins’ brown eyes—his dad’s eyes. He’d missed it.
“They’ll never know!” Nancy yelled, but Josh’s voice froze them. “Grandpa’s our dad?”
The boys stood there, stunned, with their friend Bobby. Andrew looked at Harry, pleading.
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, broken, the truth spilling out in his shattered gaze.
