I Took a DNA Test after Stranger Showed Up at My Doorstep and Claimed to Be the Bio Dad of My Twins — Story of the Day

Tom, a stay-at-home dad, loves his rambunctious twins more than anything. But everything changes when, one day, a stranger appears on his doorstep, claiming to be the biological father of the twins and demanding that Tom relinquish custody of the children.

Tom, a stay-at-home dad, is in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by the sweet chaos of cooking dinner. His twins, Kevin and Stacey, are his eager if slightly messy, helpers. Flour dusts the counter, and a couple of carrots roll to the floor.

Stacey is trying to spread peanut butter on a slice of bread, giggling as it rips under the pressure of her butter knife. Kevin, with a look of serious concentration, is arranging slices of apple into what he claims will be a smiley face on his plate.

"Careful, you rascals, or we'll end up eating peanut butter carpet sandwiches tonight!" Tom teases, tickling them gently under their arms.

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They both squirm and laugh, and Stacey accidentally gets a dab of peanut butter on Tom's nose, which makes them laugh even harder.

Just then, the doorbell rings, slicing through the sounds of their laughter.

Stacey looks up at Tom with curious eyes. "Is that mom coming home?" Monica, Tom's wife, usually works late because she is a lawyer.

When the twins were just six months old, Monica and Tom had agreed that she would go back to work and Tom would stay home with the kids.

Tom checks his watch, a hint of surprise crossing his face. "If it's mom, she's really early." The clock only shows three in the afternoon.

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Kevin chimes in with his usual bright optimism, "Maybe she decided to surprise us?"

Tom smiles a little but shakes his head. "I don't know, kiddo. I'll go check who it is." He wipes his hands on a dish towel and heads to the front door, leaving the twins peeking from the kitchen.

Tom opens the front door to find not his wife but a man he's never seen before. The stranger stands tall with a serious look on his face.

"Can I help you?" Tom asks cautiously.

The man locks eyes with Tom. "Are you Tom Cooper?" Tom nods slowly, unsure. The man extends his hand. "Michael Palmer. I need to talk to you."

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Tom shakes his hand. "Please come in," he says, stepping aside to let Michael enter.

Curious, Kevin and Stacey rush into the hallway. Stacey's voice is tinged with concern, "Who's that, dad?"

"That's Michael," Tom replies quickly. "He wants to talk to me. Go to your room. I'll come soon."

The twins glance at each other, then scamper off to their room, the sound of their footsteps fading.

Tom gestures towards the living room. "Let's sit," he suggests. Michael sits on the couch as Tom sits across from him, an air of tension hanging between them.

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"What did you want to talk about?" Tom asks, trying to sound calm.

Michael takes a deep breath before speaking. "Tom, Monica, and I had a brief affair six years ago. Your twins—they're not yours. They are mine. Monica told me herself," he states, looking directly into Tom's eyes.

Tom's heart sinks. "That's impossible. We've been together for eight years. Monica wouldn't do that to me."

Michael continues, his voice steady, "Didn't you two take a break around that time?"

Tom frowns, recalling a tough phase in their marriage. "How did you..?"

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"Tom, I am the real father of your children. Six years ago, I didn't have the courage to face that responsibility. I left Monica and the kids. But now, I've changed. I want to take them back."

Tom's voice flares with anger. "You're talking nonsense. The children are mine. They've always been mine."

Michael's expression hardens. "I want to take them back. Children need a father. Just sign the custody relinquishment papers."

"They have a father, and it's definitely not you," Tom retorts, his voice rising.

"Tom, think about this. Do you really want to raise someone else's children?"

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Tom stands up, his temper peaking. "You're a stranger to me. You come into my home and claim these children are yours. What makes you think I would believe you?"

"Why would I lie?" Michael challenges.

"Get out. Now. I don't want to hear any more of this nonsense," Tom says sternly.

Michael stands, his face cold and resolute. "I wanted to do this the easy way. But if you refuse, expect a court summons. When they do a DNA test, they'll take the kids from you."

Tom points to the door. "I said get out!"

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Michael pauses at the door, dropping his business card on a small table. "If you change your mind, call me." With that, he leaves, the door closing with a thud.

Tom stands motionless for a moment, then picks up the card and tosses it on the floor.

Tom walks slowly to the twins' room, his heart heavy with the weight of the conversation he just had. As he peeks through the slightly open door, he sees Kevin and Stacey, oblivious to the world's worries, building a tower with colorful blocks.

The sight of them, so innocent and joyful, strengthens his resolve. He whispers to himself, "I will never let them go."

He steps into the room, and they both look up with smiles. "Daddy!" They cheer in unison, and Tom forces a smile back, though his mind is miles away. He watches them play, observing how Stacey's nose wrinkles when she laughs and how Kevin's eyes squint just like Michael's did.

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The longer he looks, the more he sees Michael in them. His heart sinks as doubt creeps in, gnawing at his certainty. "Could Michael be right?" he wonders, the thought a sharp sting.

Shaking his head as if to dispel the doubts, Tom leaves the room quietly and heads to the kitchen. He finds the utensils the twins used for lunch—a spoon smeared with peanut butter and a fork with dried bits of jelly. He places them carefully in a plastic bag, each movement deliberate, masking the turmoil inside.

As the day fades into the evening, Monica comes through the door, tired but smiling. "Hey," she greets, hanging up her coat.

"I need to run to the store," Tom says, avoiding her gaze. "We're out of milk."

"Okay, love. Dinner in an hour?" Monica replies, already distracted by a message on her phone.

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Tom nods, grabs the keys, and heads out. But instead of driving to the store, he takes a deep breath and steers the car towards the hospital.

At the hospital, Tom approaches the reception desk. "I need a DNA test done," he tells the receptionist.

"Sure, fill out these forms, and we'll need the samples," she responds, sliding the paperwork across the counter.

Tom fills out each field mechanically—the twins' names, his own, the type of test—with each pen stroke. After handing back the forms, he hands over the bag with the utensils, too.

"Thank you. We'll call you when the results are ready," the receptionist says, offering a small, reassuring smile.

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Tom nods, forcing himself to walk back to the car. The return drive is silent, his mind a blur of possibilities. He parks the car at home, still undecided if he should tell Monica now or wait for the results. As he walks back inside, the weight of the unknown presses down on him.

Tom walks to the mailbox, a knot of anxiety tight in his stomach. It's been a week since he submitted the DNA samples, and every day has been a torturous wait.

His hand trembles slightly as he retrieves a plain white envelope containing the test results. He can't even wait to get inside; he tears it open right there on the street under the soft glow of the streetlamp.

He unfolds the papers with a deep breath, eyes scanning the text for the necessary truth. The words seem to jump out at him, stark and undeniable: Tom is not the children's biological father.

The shock hits him like a physical blow. "Damn it!" he exclaims in frustration, the paper slipping from his fingers to the ground.

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After a moment of stunned silence, he stoops to pick up the letter, clutching it tightly as he heads back into the house.

He needs answers, and Monica is the only person who can provide them. He's determined to call and confront her as soon as he walks through the door.

However, the moment Tom steps inside, his plans are abruptly derailed by the sight of Kevin, who looks terrified. "Dad, Stacey won't wake up!" Kevin's voice is high with panic.

Tom's heart leaps into his throat. Dropping the letter on a nearby table, he sprints to the twins' room. There, he finds Stacey, lying still and unresponsive on her bed, her cheeks flushed with fever. His hands shake as he touches her forehead, which is scorching hot.

"You're burning up," he murmurs, his voice tight with worry. He looks at Kevin, trying to maintain a calm he doesn't feel. "Kevin, go sit in the car, quickly."

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Kevin nods tears in his eyes, and runs out to the car. Tom gently lifts Stacey, cradling her limp body against his chest.

Rushing outside, Tom carefully places Stacey in the back seat, securing her as best he can. He then jumps into the driver's seat, starts the engine, and drives to the hospital as fast as he can.

Tom dashes into the emergency room, Stacey limps in his arms. Kevin trails behind, his small face twisted with worry. Immediately, nurses converge on them, gently taking Stacey from Tom's arms and placing her on a stretcher.

"What happened?" one of the nurses asks as they start to push the stretcher through the bustling corridor.

Tom struggles to find his words, his voice shaking. "I... I don't know. Everything was...fine, and then...then she just lost consciousness," he stammers, his anxiety evident.

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"Okay, calm down. We'll figure out what's wrong," the nurse reassures him, her voice steady and calm despite the urgency. They wheel Stacey away swiftly towards the examination room.

"Where are you taking her?!" Tom shouts, his panic rising as they disappear around a corner. "Don't take her away! Don't take my daughter!"

"Please, calm down," the same nurse says, her tone still soothing. She touches Tom's shoulder briefly before following the others.

Overwhelmed, Tom collapses onto the floor, leaning against the cool hospital wall. "Don't take my little girl away from me," he murmurs between sobs. Beside him, Kevin begins to cry, too, his tiny body heaving with each sob.

A hospital staff member approaches, offering a sedative to help calm him. Once Tom is more settled and Kevin is taken to a children's room to wait, a doctor who had been examining Stacey calls Tom into his office.

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Tom enters, his face drawn and pale. "What's wrong with her?" he asks without preamble.

The doctor looks at him with a mixture of compassion and professionalism. "It's always hard to tell parents that their child is ill," the doctor begins, his smile sad.

"But that's my job. We've run several tests, and I'm very sorry to say that your daughter's liver is failing. If we don't perform a transplant soon, I don't know how long she'll live."

Tom covers his face with his hands, guilt washing over him. "It's my fault. I should have noticed."

The doctor shakes his head. "No one is to blame here. Symptoms may not show until it's too late."

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"When can she have the surgery?" Tom asks, his voice desperate.

"If we wait for organs, it could take a very long time. There's a long waitlist, and we don't know if your daughter will be a priority," the doctor explains.

"Isn't there another option?" Tom's voice cracks with hope.

"We could test you and your wife, as you're the parents, there's a high likelihood that your organ would match," the doctor suggests.

Tom hesitates, the weight of his next words heavy on his tongue. "I... I'm not the biological father."

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The doctor pauses. "Oh... Do you have the ability to contact the biological father?"

Tom's face hardens. "I'm not going to do that. He wants to take the children. But I'm ready to undergo all the necessary tests. I'm willing to donate my liver."

"Okay, I'm glad to hear that," the doctor responds, his voice a note of relief. He motions for Tom to follow him to the testing area.

As they walk, Tom feels a mix of fear and determination. He knows he may not be Stacey's father by blood, but he has raised and loved her, and no piece of paper could ever change that. He is her father in all the ways that count, and he will do whatever it takes to save her.

The doctor leads Tom to a small, sterile room where a nurse awaits with equipment ready for the necessary tests. Tom rolls up his sleeve, ready to provide whatever samples are needed.

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Tom sat on the hospital floor, playing a simple game of cards with Kevin to pass the time. Despite the dire circumstances, he couldn't help but smile as Kevin laughed at the funny faces Tom made every time he lost a round.

The room was filled with the sound of Kevin's giggles and the occasional beep from the medical equipment monitoring Stacey in the next room.

The door creaked open, and the doctor stepped in, his face serious. "Tom, may I have a word?" he asked, looking directly at Tom.

Tom nodded to Kevin, signaling him to keep playing with his cards, and stood up to meet the doctor. "What's the news, doc?" Tom asked, trying to read the doctor's expression.

"You're a match for the donation," the doctor revealed, causing Tom to feel a wave of relief.

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"That's wonderful news," Tom said, his voice filled with hope.

"But I must decline the surgery," the doctor quickly added, his tone apologetic.

"What? Why?" Tom's heart sank.

"Do you know that you have heart issues?" the doctor asked, his eyebrows raised in concern.

"Yes, but I take medication, and it's under control," Tom insisted, desperate not to let this opportunity slip away.

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"No, Tom. It's too risky. I can't risk one life to save another," the doctor explained, his voice firm.

"But she's just a child, and I'm on medication," Tom repeated, his voice rising slightly in frustration.

"Tom, you might not survive the surgery," the doctor said, his voice softening a bit to show his sympathy.

"What other options are we left with, doc?" Tom asked, feeling trapped by his own body's limitations.

The doctor glanced over at Kevin, who was still absorbed in his card game, oblivious to the gravity of their conversation. "We can take a liver from Kevin. Since they're twins, he's definitely a suitable donor."

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"What are the risks for him?" Tom asked, his stomach tightening at the thought.

"They're minimal. Of course, he'll have restrictions he must follow for the rest of his life, but he can save his sister's life," the doctor explained, trying to reassure Tom.

"Okay. Then I'll talk to him and try to explain everything," Tom said, though the thought of asking so much from his young son weighed heavily on him.

"We'll also test your wife when she arrives; maybe she can be a donor," the doctor added as he prepared to leave.

Tom nodded, his mind racing with all the information. The doctor left the room, and Tom turned back to Kevin, who looked up at him with a smile.

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Tom sits by Stacey's hospital bed, his eyes fixed on the pale, still form of his daughter. The room hums with the soft beeping of machines monitoring her every breath.

Stacey lies unconscious, her small chest rising and falling under the blankets. Tom feels detached, his mind swirling with recent revelations, betrayal, and fear for his daughter's life.

The door swings open, and Monica rushes in, her face etched with worry. She goes straight to Tom, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. Tom, however, doesn't respond. His gaze remains fixed on the blank wall opposite him, his body stiff.

Monica pulls back slightly, looking into his face. "I came as soon as I could. They immediately took me for tests to see if I could be a donor for Stacey. But I'm not compatible," she explains, her voice tinged with frustration and sadness.

Tom's voice is flat, almost emotionless. "I talked to Kevin. He agreed to donate part of his liver to Stacey. They are currently testing him and preparing him for the surgery."

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Monica's eyes widen. "Will he be okay?" she asks, the worry clear in her voice.

"Yes," Tom replies shortly.

"How are you?" Monica's voice softens, reaching out for any sign of emotion from him.

Tom turns slightly, his face hard. "A week ago, a man came to our house. Michael. He demanded to take the children."

Monica's face falls, her mouth opens slightly as if to say something, but no words come out.

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"Why did you hide from me that the children aren't mine?" Tom's voice rises, a mix of hurt and anger bubbling to the surface.

"I was afraid of losing you," Monica admits, her voice a whisper.

"So it's true?" Tom's voice cracks slightly.

"We were on a break, and I was very upset. Michael was there. He supported me. I didn't even realize how it happened, but we slept together. When I told him I was pregnant, he left me," Monica explains, tears starting to form in her eyes.

"So you stayed with me just to not be alone?" Tom's tone is accusatory.

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"No, I loved you, Tom, and I still do. I didn't want to be with Michael, but I thought the children needed a father," Monica pleads with him to understand.

"So you decided to deceive me," Tom states coldly.

"I couldn't imagine living without you. I wanted to raise children with you. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you," Monica's voice breaks with emotion.

Tom turns his head to look Monica in the eyes. His voice is steady, but his eyes betray a deep hurt. "Now you'll get to know what it's like because you've lost me now."

"Tom…" Monica reaches out, trying to touch his arm.

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Tom pulls away sharply, pushing her hand away. "I can't do this right now. Not here," he says, nodding towards Stacey.

Tom and Monica sit tensely in Stacey's hospital room when a flurry of activity suddenly catches their attention. Doctors and nurses rush past the door, their movements quick and focused. Tom's heart skips a beat, and a sense of dread washes over him.

"They're running to Kevin's room," Tom mutters, his voice strained. He and Monica leap to their feet and hurry down the corridor, following the commotion to where their son is.

Upon arriving, they find Kevin's room swarming with medical staff. Tom tries to push through the doorway, desperate to see his son. "What's happening? Let me in!" he demands, his voice echoing down the busy hallway.

"You can't go in here," a stern nurse blocks the entrance, her hands gesturing them back.

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Feeling helpless, Tom and Monica retreat to the hallway, sitting on the cold, hard chairs, their minds racing with worry.

They watch anxiously as staff enter and exit Kevin's room, the door swinging open and closed but revealing nothing of their son's condition.

After what feels like an eternity, a doctor approaches them. Tom immediately stands, his body tense, his face etched with concern. "What's wrong with him?" he asks urgently, his voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor's face is grave. "Kevin's liver is failing, too. He now needs a donor himself," he explains.

Tom's knees buckle slightly as he sinks back into his chair, his hands covering his face in despair. "No, not him, too," he mumbles.

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The doctor continues, "We ran tests. The children have a genetic disease. Maybe some relatives would agree to be donors." His eyes scan their faces, searching for any sign of hope.

Monica shakes her head slowly, her eyes filled with tears. "There's no one else," she whispers, her voice cracking.

"Then we'll have to put them on the list and hope a donor can be found quickly," the doctor says, his tone indicating the urgency of the situation but also the grim reality of waiting lists.

Tom looks up, a new determination settling over his features. "I'll talk to him," he states firmly, wiping his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Monica asks, confusion spreading across her face.

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"I'll talk to Michael," Tom clarifies, standing up again. "The biological father," he adds for the doctor's benefit.

The doctor nods, understanding the direction Tom is willing to take. "Let me know if there's anything else we can do to help," he offers before turning to attend to other urgent matters.

Tom grips the steering wheel tighter as he navigates through the quiet streets leading to Michael's residence. He found Michael's business card earlier that day under the sofa.

After a brief, tense phone call, Michael agreed to meet, and now Tom is driving to his house, a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach.

As Tom turns onto a long, winding driveway, he sees it: a large, imposing mansion set against a backdrop of manicured gardens.

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The building looms large and extravagant, its windows gleaming under the afternoon sun. Tom parks his car, his hands shaking slightly as he kills the engine. He takes a deep breath to steady his nerves before stepping out.

The air is cool and crisp, and as Tom walks up to the grand entrance, he can't help but feel out of place in his simple jeans and sweater. He reaches the polished oak door and presses the doorbell. The door immediately swings open, revealing a butler in a crisp, dark suit.

"Good afternoon, sir. Please come in," the butler greets him with a professional smile, stepping aside to allow Tom entry.

Tom steps into the foyer, a vast and ornately decorated space that momentarily takes his breath away. The ceilings are high, adorned with intricate moldings, and the floor is covered with a plush carpet that mutes his footsteps.

"May I take your coat?" the butler asks, extending a hand toward Tom.

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"Yes, thank you," Tom replies, shrugging off his coat and handing it over. He feels increasingly nervous, the weight of the meeting pressing down on him.

The butler leads Tom through a series of richly furnished rooms, each more lavish than the last. Finally, they arrive at the living room, a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the gardens.

Michael is standing by a fireplace, looking as composed and confident as Tom remembers from their last unpleasant encounter.

Tom sits on a plush, velvet sofa, his heart pounding with nervous anticipation.

"Nice house," Tom remarks, trying to break the ice and delay the conversation he dreads.

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"Yes, it was my father's house," Michael responds his voice void of emotion, his eyes not leaving Tom's.

Tom shifts uncomfortably, feeling out of place in the lavish surroundings. Michael clears his throat, ready to address the reason for Tom's visit.

"Tom, I'm glad you finally decided," Michael begins, assuming Tom's intentions.

"No, I'm not giving up custody. I came to ask you to save my children," Tom cuts in quickly, his voice firm.

"What's wrong with them?" Michael's brow furrows in genuine surprise.

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"They have a genetic disease causing liver failure. You could be a donor," Tom explains, the urgency clear in his voice.

Michael pauses, considering this. "I'm willing, but on one condition. You sign the custody relinquishment documents."

"That's not going to happen," Tom replies sternly, his hands clenched in his lap.

Michael stands, his expression hardening. "Well, then I can't help," he states coldly, making a move to leave the room.

"But they are your children!" Tom raises his voice, desperation creeping in.

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"Legally, they are yours," Michael counters with a shrug, his detachment chilling.

"How can you be so cruel?" Tom's voice cracks, his frustration and disbelief bubbling to the surface.

Michael doesn't stop. "Wait!" Tom shouts. "I'll sign the documents."

"Excellent," Michael says, a hint of triumph in his voice. He calls out, "Dylan, bring the custody papers."

The butler, Dylan, enters swiftly with a stack of papers and a pen, placing them on the mahogany coffee table in front of Tom. Tom's hands tremble as he picks up the pen, his mind racing. "I'm doing this for them," he thinks, trying to convince himself that he's making the right decision.

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Yet, as he signs his name, a nagging doubt remains. It strikes him as odd that Michael only now showed interest in the children, and his timing is suspiciously convenient.

"Excuse me, where's the restroom?" Tom asks suddenly, needing a moment to gather his thoughts and perhaps uncover more about Michael's sudden change of heart.

"Up the stairs and to the right. The third door," the butler directs him.

Tom ascends the grand staircase, his footsteps echoing softly in the vast, ornate hallway. As he reaches the top, he hesitates. The weight of his decision presses heavily on him, and he feels a sudden urge to understand more about Michael's intentions.

Instead of heading right towards the restroom as instructed, Tom's curiosity pulls him left, towards a slightly ajar door that leads to Michael's study.

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He pushes the door open and steps inside, immediately struck by the order and luxury of the room. The walls are lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound books, and the large desk in the center is meticulously organized.

Tom approaches the desk, his eyes scanning the papers neatly arranged there. Among them, he spots an official-looking document that catches his attention—a will.

Tom carefully picks up the document, and as he reads, a clear picture begins to form. The will states that Michael's father left his entire fortune not to Michael directly but to his grandchildren, Kevin and Stacey.

It becomes painfully clear why Michael has shown such a sudden and intense interest in the children—it's not a desire to connect or to take responsibility; it's purely for financial gain.

Feeling a mix of anger and resolve, Tom folds the will and places it back exactly as he found it. He knows he cannot allow Michael to manipulate the situation to his advantage. However, he also realizes that he must tread carefully; Michael's cooperation as a donor is still crucial for saving Stacey and Kevin.

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With a heavy heart, Tom leaves the study and returns downstairs. The living room is now empty; Michael is nowhere to be seen. Feeling a cold draft of isolation in the opulent house, Tom finds the butler, retrieves his coat, and steps out into the cool air.

Tom drives home, his mind clouded with worry and determination. As he pulls into the driveway, the familiar sight of his house brings a brief moment of comfort, but it quickly fades as he remembers the urgency of his mission.

He enters the house and heads straight to the children's rooms. His actions are swift but careful as he gathers their belongings and favorite toys, including Stacey's stuffed bear and Kevin's collection of small, colorful cars.

The house is quiet, too quiet, making Tom's task feel even more somber. He moves through the rooms, each object he packs a reminder of his children's personalities and the life they share together.

He zips up the bags, takes a deep breath, and locks the door behind him, the weight of the moment settling heavily on his shoulders.

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Driving back to the hospital, Tom's grip on the steering wheel tightens with each mile closer to his children. He parks and rushes inside, the hospital's familiar smell of antiseptic washing over him as he navigates through the corridors to the doctor's office.

Upon arrival, Tom's pace quickens, his heart pounding in anticipation and fear. He finds the doctor and asks urgently, "Are we preparing for surgery yet? Is everything set?"

The doctor looks at Tom with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "The biological father hasn't shown up," he informs Tom, his voice steady yet carrying a hint of disappointment.

Tom's heart sinks. The information hits him like a punch to the stomach, leaving him momentarily breathless.

Tom bursts out of the hospital doors, his face flushed with urgency. He pulls out his phone and dials Michael's number, the ring echoing in his ears as he waits, desperate for an answer. When Michael finally picks up, Tom doesn't waste a second.

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"Why aren't you at the hospital?" Tom's voice is sharp, filled with accusation.

There's a pause on the line. Then Michael's voice comes through, cool and unbothered. "Did you really think I would donate my liver?"

"They're your children!" Tom's voice cracks with emotion, his plea edged with disbelief.

"I gave them up six years ago and don't want them in my life now. I got what I needed," Michael responds, his tone dismissive, as if discussing a closed business deal rather than the fate of his own children.

"Custody? So your father's money would transfer to you?" Tom's words are laced with bitterness as he pieces together Michael's motives.

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"So, you were snooping through my documents? Then you must understand that it's more profitable for me if the children die, and I inherit as their guardian." Michael's words are cold and calculated.

"You're scum!" Tom spits out, the insult raw and filled with all the contempt he feels.

"Goodbye, Tom," Michael says, and the line goes dead, leaving Tom staring at his phone in shock.

Tom's hand trembles as he lowers the phone. A mixture of rage, despair, and helplessness overwhelms him. He throws the phone into his pocket and kicks a nearby trash can, sending it clattering across the pavement.

His breath heaves in ragged gasps as he tries to compose himself, but the emotions are too strong.

Tom stumbles to a nearby bench and collapses onto it, burying his face in his hands. Tears stream down his face, unchecked. He sobs quietly, the sound muffled by his palms.

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Tom walks back into the hospital, his determination fueling his swift pace. He navigates through the bustling corridors, his mind focused solely on his next step.

He arrives at the doctor's office and opens the door without knocking. The doctor looks up, surprised by Tom's abrupt entrance.

"I'll do it," Tom says, his voice resolute.

"What do you mean?" the doctor asks, setting aside his paperwork. His expression is one of concern.

"I'll be the donor for the children," Tom declares firmly.

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"No, Tom, I already told you it's not possible," the doctor responds, his tone gentle yet firm.

"Why? I'm a suitable donor," Tom argues, frustration creeping into his voice.

"But your heart..." the doctor begins, trying to remind Tom of the serious risks involved.

Tom cuts him off, his desperation evident, "I'm ready to take the risk. What I'm not ready for is watching my children die." His voice cracks slightly with emotion, but his resolve does not waver.

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"When can we start?" Tom asks, eager to move forward.

"Spend some time with your family," the doctor replies, suggesting a moment of calm before the storm. "We'll prepare everything and call you as soon as we're ready."

Tom nods, understanding the need for both preparation and a brief respite to gather strength for what's to come. He leaves the doctor's office and walks down the hallway towards the children's ward.

Tom walks over to where Monica is sitting by the children's beds in the hospital room. He takes a seat next to her, his face solemn yet relieved.

"A donor has been found," he says, the weight of his words filling the space between them.

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"Really?" Monica looks at him, her eyes wide with hope and disbelief. "Did Michael agree?"

Tom shakes his head. "No, he lied to me, but another donor was found."

Relief washes over Monica's face, and she reaches out to embrace Tom tightly. He returns the hug, feeling a surge of emotions.

"I'm sorry for lying to you for so long," Monica says softly as they pull apart.

Tom nods, understanding the complexity of her feelings. "I'm grateful you did. I can't imagine life without them," he replies, looking over at the twins, who are still unconscious but stable.

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Monica furrows her brows, confusion crossing her features. "What did you mean when you said Michael lied to you?"

Tom takes a deep breath before explaining. "He said he'd become a donor if I gave up custody. But after I signed the documents, he said he never intended to do it."

Tom's voice grows bitter as he continues, "He benefits if the children die because his father's entire estate is written to them. After their deaths, it all goes to him as their guardian."

Monica's expression turns to one of disgust. "Sick psychopath."

Tom grips her hand tightly. "Promise me you won't give him the children and that you'll fight him for custody."

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

"Of course. We'll handle everything. Together," Monica replies firmly, squeezing his hand in return.

Reassured by Monica's commitment, Tom watches her stand and go to talk to the doctor about the next steps. He turns back to look at his children, their faces peaceful despite the machines around them.

With a gentle hand, Tom places a letter next to each of their beds, the paper bearing his heart and hopes for them, words that he might not have the chance to say out loud.

He bends down to kiss Stacey gently on her forehead, her skin cool under his lips. Moving to Kevin's bed, he does the same, a silent prayer forming in his mind for their recovery and future.

Leaning close so only they could hear if they were awake, Tom whispers, "You've made me the happiest person in the world." His voice is thick with emotion, each word heavy with love.

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Tom steps out of the room, his heart full yet heavy. As he walks down the hospital corridor, he sees Monica approaching. He stops her with a touch on her arm and pulls her close for a kiss.

"If I had a chance to live life over again, I wouldn't change a thing," he whispers into her ear.

Monica, puzzled by the intensity of the moment, smiles softly and asks, "What's all this about?"

"Just that. I love you, even though I'm very angry with you," Tom confesses, the honesty in his voice bridging the gap between them caused by secrets and lies.

"I love you too," Monica responds her voice firm, conveying the strength of her feelings despite the rocky ground beneath them.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

"Go to the children. I don't want them to be alone," Tom says, giving her another kiss. He watches her as she turns back toward the children's room, her steps slow but determined.

Tom stands there for a few more moments, watching Monica disappear into the room where their children rest.

Tom walks into the doctor's office, his face set with resolve. The room is stark, filled with the clinical, sterile smell that permeates the rest of the hospital.

"Ready?" the doctor asks, looking up from a stack of medical files.

Tom nods once, his jaw tight. There are no more words necessary; his decision is made.

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Tom is then escorted to the operating room. He changes into the surgical gown and lays down on the cold, hard table. The room is bright, the lights glaring down at him, and he sees his twins, Kevin and Stacey, already prepped on adjacent tables. Their innocent faces are calm, sedated.

"See you later, you rascals," Tom whispers to them, trying to muster a smile. An anesthesiologist comes over, her face kind and professional behind her mask. She administers the anesthesia through an IV, and Tom's vision begins to blur as his world fades to black.

Meanwhile, Monica waits anxiously in the hospital room. Time seems to stretch endlessly before the doctor emerges from the operating room.

"The surgery went well. The children should wake up soon," the doctor tells Monica, his voice steady and reassuring.

Monica's face breaks into a relieved smile. "Thank you, doctor," she breathes out, her relief palpable.

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"But unfortunately, Tom didn't survive the surgery. His heart couldn't take it. We did everything we could. I'm very sorry." The doctor's voice is heavy with regret as he places a sympathetic hand on Monica's shoulder.

Monica freezes, her smile fading as confusion and horror take its place. "What are you talking about? What surgery? Where's Tom?"

"He didn't tell you?" the doctor asks, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.

"Tell me what?" Monica's voice rises in panic.

"Tom volunteered to be the donor for the twins. Despite all the risks to his life."

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"No, no, you're lying," Monica stammers, her body beginning to tremble as tears form in her eyes. "Tom said a donor was found."

"Yes, it was him," the doctor confirms softly.

"No, no, no," Monica repeats, her denial mingling with the onset of grief as the reality of the situation sinks in. Her knees weaken, and she collapses into a nearby chair.

"I'm truly sorry," the doctor says again, his tone genuinely mournful. He bends down to hug Monica, who is now sobbing uncontrollably.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Shutterstock

In her haze of grief, Monica's eyes fall on the letters Tom had left by the children's beds—one for each twin and a larger envelope addressed to her.

"They were the most precious thing to him. More precious than life itself," the doctor adds quietly, watching as Monica absorbs the gravity of Tom's sacrifice.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels

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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: Max, a selfish businessman who leads a reckless lifestyle, wakes up after another party to the doorbell ringing. On his doorstep stands a little girl claiming he is her father. Read the full story here.

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