I left my wife and daughters because they weren’t the sons I wanted.

I left my wife and daughters, convinced that they weren’t what I had always wanted. They weren’t the sons I had imagined. But when I came back, my daughter’s words broke me in a way I never could have predicted…

Every evening, my daughters were always the first to greet me, and I forced a smile, even though frustration was building inside me.

Why, in a family where men had been present for generations, was I the only one without a son?

In my mind, my lineage was important. My grandfather had had sons. My father had had sons. And I had three daughters.

The pressure of whispers in the village was heavy. “Who will carry on the family name?”

When my wife became pregnant again, and the doctor told us it was a boy, I felt immense joy. I believed this moment would finally change something. But time showed me another truth.

My son didn’t have the features I recognized in myself. His fair skin, almond-shaped eyes, and wide forehead were so different from mine. One day, unable to bear it, I coldly asked, “Are you sure he’s my son?”

She didn’t respond, her tears falling silently. And my twelve-year-old eldest daughter gave me a look that hit me harder than any words.

I left, without a word of explanation. With another woman, younger, who promised me sons. I thought everything would get better.

But one day, in the rain, I returned. Ready to tell my wife that this time, I was leaving for good. But when I entered the house, I found only my daughters sitting in the living room. The silence was overwhelming.

My eldest daughter broke the silence:
“Dad… Mom is…” Her words shocked me, and I stood there, speechless.

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As soon as I opened the door, I saw my daughters quietly sitting. Our eldest daughter stepped forward, pointed to the bedroom, and coldly said one sentence:

– “Dad, Mom is gone… come and look at me one last time…”

I was stunned.

I rushed inside. My wife was lying there, as white as paper, her hands still holding the unfinished letter. The son had been taken to a neighbor’s. She had taken sleeping pills…

I screamed, shook my wife, and called for help. But it was too late.

The last letter contained only a few lines:
“I’m so sorry. I kept my son because I thought he would love me more.

But when you left, I knew I had lost everything. If there is another life, I want to be the mother of my children again, even if I can’t be your woman anymore.”

I stayed there, frozen on the floor, my head in my hands, listening to my daughter’s cries echo in my chest like a knife. And as for the mistress, after discovering that I had become a man without a wife, she panicked. She severed all ties and disappeared into the night.