I JUST FOUND OUT MY THREE CHILDREN AREN’T MINE AFTER 15 YEARS OF MARRIAGE, MAN SHARES HEARTBREAKING STORY

I don’t even know how to start this story, because even now, my chest still feels like someone is sitting on it. If anybody had told me that one day I would question the paternity of the three children I loved with my whole life, I would have sworn on my father’s name that they were lying. But life has a way of shifting the ground beneath your feet without warning.

For 15 years, I built my world around my wife and our children. I did everything a present father should do. I was the school-run driver, the homework supervisor, the sick-night watcher, the one shouting “don’t touch that thing” around the house. I carried those children on my shoulders until my back started warning me. I believed I was raising my seeds, my legacy.

Everything started with a simple argument, nothing serious. Just one of those small disagreements that usually blow away with sleep. But that night, something in my wife’s tone felt strange. A kind of fear and defensiveness I had never noticed before. It planted a bad seed in my mind, one I didn’t want to water. But the thought refused to die.

One day, when the kids were at home with me and my wife had gone to work, I told myself, “Let me just clear this doubt so my mind can rest.” I did DNA tests for all three children. I expected the results to shame me for doubting my wife. Instead, they broke me in a way I cannot fully put into words.

Not one. Not two. All three.

I sat on the floor of the hospital corridor like someone who just received a death sentence. I didn’t cry immediately. My tears came later, when I remembered every birthday I had planned, every school fee I struggled to pay, every prayer I said on their heads, begging God to make them better than me.

When I confronted my wife, she didn’t even deny it. She just knelt down and said, “Please forgive me.” As if forgiveness is something you can pluck from a shelf.

Till today, I still don’t know the real father of those children. She refuses to say. My family wants me to walk away. Her family says I should stay for the sake of the children, children that aren’t mine.

I’m writing this because my heart is heavy, and maybe sharing it will help me breathe again. I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I don’t know how to unlove children I raised. I don’t know how to rebuild myself. I just know this pain is real, and it’s sitting with me like an unwanted guest that refuses to leave.