My heart sank.

He had lied to both of us.

The younger woman stepped forward. She had Thomas’s eyes.

“I’m Sofia,” she said softly. “He was my father.”

For a moment, the world felt like it was collapsing. Forty-two years of memories — anniversaries, dinners, ordinary Thursdays — suddenly looked different.

But three days later, I sat down with my sons and told them everything.

And then I made a decision.

I reopened the estate.

I refused to protect Thomas’s lies. But I also refused to punish an innocent daughter for them.

So I divided the inheritance into three equal parts.

My two sons.

And Sofia.