My wife and I lived together for nearly ten years before we divorced.
Even after the divorce, I continued to pay for everything—our children’s education, food, and daily expenses—with all my heart.
Until one day… I realized something that shook me to the core.
Our four “shared” children had grown up without looking even a little like their father.
It has been one year since my ex-wife, Angela, and I got divorced.
The reason wasn’t anything dramatic—
“We’re incompatible.”
“We fight all the time.”
I thought it was better to walk away quietly rather than drag everything through court.
So I left the house, the furniture, everything in Angela’s and the children’s names, and moved into a small rental apartment.
There was only one thing I kept with me—
Responsibility.
I personally promised that I would take care of all four children’s tuition, food, and every necessity.
I believed it was my duty.
After all, they were the bond of our marriage—even if the marriage itself had ended.
But as time passed… the children began to change.
The first child—tall, fair-skinned, with a sharp high nose—looked almost European.
The second—short, petite, with single eyelids and delicate features—looked like a Japanese mix.
The third—dark-skinned, with thick curly hair—looked like he had African roots.
And the fourth… looked purely Southeast Asian—deep eyes, brown skin, unmistakably Filipino.
I kept telling myself—
“Kids change as they grow.”
“It’s just genetics playing tricks.”
But somewhere deep inside, doubt had already taken root.
One day, the school informed me that the children’s records needed to be sent overseas, so parental verification was required.
Casually, the office staff asked me:
“Sir, are you really the children’s biological father? The records don’t seem to match.”
That one sentence ripped my chest wide open.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
The next morning, I did something I never imagined I would—
I ordered DNA tests for all four children.
When the results arrived, I collapsed into a chair.
Not a single one of them was mine.
Not even one.
A storm erupted inside me.
My mind went numb.
My heart shattered completely.
But the greatest shock… was still yet to come.
I sent the reports for further verification at another lab.
After reviewing the files, the doctor looked up at me and said:
“What’s strange is that all four of these children…”
The doctor adjusted his glasses and looked at me again.
“What’s strange is that all four of these children…”
He paused.
“They share the same biological father.”
The room started spinning.
“What… what do you mean?” I whispered.
“All four DNA samples match the same male donor,” he said quietly. “But that man… is not you.”
For a long moment, I couldn’t hear anything anymore. The doctor’s voice felt distant, as if he were speaking from underwater.
“So you’re saying…” My hands were trembling. “My ex-wife had four children… all with the same man?”
The doctor nodded slowly.
I walked out of the lab like a corpse that had forgotten how to die. My legs moved on their own, but my mind was completely blank. Ten years of marriage. Ten years of sacrifice. Ten years of believing I was a father.
And not a single one of them carried my blood.
That night, I stood outside the house I once called home. The lights were on. I could see the children laughing inside through the window. My children—no, her children.
Angela opened the door and froze when she saw me.
“Why are you here?” she asked sharply.
I walked inside without answering and threw the DNA reports onto the table.
“Explain,” I said.
Her face drained of color.
She picked up the papers, trembling as she read. Her lips began to shake.
“You… you tested the children?”
“Yes,” I said coldly. “And now I know the truth.”
For a long time, she said nothing. Then suddenly, she sat down on the floor and began to cry.
“I was young,” she sobbed. “You were always working… always busy… always tired. I felt lonely.”
“So you cheated?” I asked.
She shook her head desperately.
“Not just cheated,” she whispered. “I fell in love with someone else.”
My fists clenched.
“And for ten years you let me raise another man’s children?”
Tears streamed down her face.
“He promised to marry me,” she said. “He promised to take responsibility. But every time I told him I was pregnant, he disappeared. Then he came back again… and again…”
My heart sank.
“Who is he?” I asked.
She hesitated.
“Tell me,” I growled.
“His name is Rafael,” she whispered.
That name hit me like lightning.
Rafael.
My younger cousin.
The man I had trusted more than my own brother.
The man I had helped get his first job.
The man who used to sit at my dining table and eat with my family.
I felt something inside me completely break.
I left without another word.
That same night, I drove straight to Rafael’s apartment. I didn’t knock.
I kicked the door open.
He was sitting on the couch, shocked when he saw me.
“Kuya?” he said nervously.
I threw the DNA reports in his face.
“Read,” I said.
His face turned pale.
“I… I can explain,” he stammered.
I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.
“For ten years,” I said through clenched teeth, “I raised your children. I paid their school fees. Their hospital bills. Their food. While you lived your life freely.”
He broke down crying.
“She said you didn’t love her anymore,” he sobbed. “She said you didn’t care about the children.”
I punched him.
Hard.
One punch. That was all I gave him. Because suddenly, I realized something.
Hitting him wouldn’t bring back my lost years.
The next morning, I did something no one expected.
I went to court.
I filed a petition to terminate all financial responsibility.
And I demanded a legal investigation of paternity fraud.
When Angela received the court notice, she collapsed at the courthouse.
But I didn’t stop there.
I went to the children’s school.
When the teachers saw me, they smiled warmly.
“Sir, your kids—”
“They’re not mine,” I said quietly.
The smiles disappeared.
The news spread fast.
Relatives took sides.
Some blamed me for abandoning the children.
Some cursed Angela for destroying two families at once.
But what hurt the most… were the children.
The eldest boy came running after me one day.
“Daddy!” he shouted.
I froze.
He grabbed my hand.
“Why don’t you come home anymore? Did we do something wrong?”
My knees nearly gave out.
“You did nothing wrong,” I whispered. “None of this is your fault.”
“Then why are you leaving us?” he cried.
Because loving you is killing me.
But I didn’t say that.
That night, I didn’t sleep again.
For the first time in my life, I felt hatred toward innocent children.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
Weeks passed.
The court battle continued.
Rafael tried to deny everything.
Angela begged me to reconsider.
Then one afternoon, a woman showed up at my door.
She introduced herself as Maribel.
“I am Rafael’s wife,” she said.
My blood ran cold.
“He told me everything,” she said softly. “About Angela. About the children.”
She looked down.
“And I did a DNA test too.”
My heart started racing.
“The youngest two are also mine,” she said.
I stared at her in disbelief.
Rafael had been living a double life.
Two women. Four children. Same man.
And I was the fool paying for all of it.
Maribel and I went to court together.
The truth exploded like a bomb.
Rafael was forced to publicly acknowledge all four children as his.
He lost his job.
His reputation was destroyed.
The court ordered him to repay me every peso I had spent on the children.
Of course, he couldn’t.
He had nothing.
Angela lost custody because of fraud and emotional manipulation.
Maribel divorced him.
Rafael ended up completely alone.
But my victory tasted bitter.
Because in the end, four innocent children had lost everything.
Their father.
Their families.
Their sense of identity.
One evening, months later, I found all four children waiting outside my apartment.
The eldest boy stepped forward.
“We know you’re not our real dad,” he said quietly.
My throat tightened.
“But you are the only father who ever loved us.”
The other three held his hands.
My walls collapsed.
I knelt in front of them.
“I can’t be your legal father anymore,” I said. “But I will never stop caring about you.”
They hugged me.
All four at once.
I cried for the first time in years.
Today, I live alone in a small apartment.
Rafael is gone.
Angela works two jobs.
Maribel raises her children on her own.
And I still help the kids—quietly, anonymously.
Not because the law forces me.
But because my heart still chooses them.
Blood doesn’t always make a father.
Sometimes… love does.