Once upon a time, there was a husband and wife.

Like many husbands and wives, they had kids. In their case, they had four kids, four whole entire kids.

Three of their kids had light brown hair and green or hazel eyes, while one, the youngest, had black hair and very dark eyes. This youngest child was also much shorter than the others.

Long had the husband suspected that the youngest child was not his, but he hoped against hope and said nothing to his wife.

One day, like most Americans, the husband got cancer and within a few months he was on his death bed in a hospice. His wife was at his side, holding his hand. With a weak voice, the husband finally asked, “Honey, is little Juan, Jr. really mine?”

“Oh, yes, Kyle my dear,” the wife said. “I would never cheat on you.”

“Really?”

“I swear on everything that is holy: that boy is yours.”

Comforted, the husband passed away a few hours later. The wife was saddened, but also relieved.

Thank God he didn’t ask about the other three, she thought.