Eighteen years passed. I now work at a doctor’s clinic, and one day, I saw his name on the appointment list. I was stunned when he arrived—with a fair-skinned woman and a dark-skinned son.

I checked his file. The boy was his biological child. That’s when the truth hit me: my aunt never cheated. Her ex-husband must have had a dark-skinned ancestor, and the gene resurfaced through their child.

The heartbreaking irony? He destroyed his first family over something hidden in his own blood—only to have it emerge again with his new one.

He never apologized. But the truth was clear.