That evening, I was having dinner with a business partner. The restaurant was brightly lit, the air filled with the sparkling scent of wine mixed with the rich aroma of steak. I thought I just needed to finish dinner, sign the contract, and go home. But the moment I casually glanced over at the row of tables by the window, I froze upon seeing my ex-wife.

That woman used to be my wife, but I hadn’t seen her for eight years. Yet, in just a second, I instantly recognized her. Not only that, but beside her were two children, about 7-8 years old. One was a sharp, lively boy whose smile revealed deep dimples. The other was a pretty girl with large, expressive black eyes. Both called her “Mom,” their voices so sweet and soft it made my heart ache.

I don’t remember how many glasses I drank; I only know my mind felt squeezed. The numbers in the contract, the conversations at the table… everything turned into an incomprehensible hum. All my focus was on the three people at the neighboring table.

Seven to eight years old… If I counted backward, that time perfectly coincided with the period when we got divorced. Such a terrifying coincidence made a thought flash in my mind: Could those two children possibly be mine?

After that day, I secretly, silently followed my ex-wife and learned that she was living in a small apartment complex and did not have a husband. She ran a flower shop. The two children were a pair of twins, carrying my ex-wife’s surname.

I was stunned when I ran into my ex-wife. (Illustrative image)

Many days later, I stood at the school gate, watching the two children run toward her. The boy was running and laughing, and his smile was so much like mine when I was little—so similar that it made my heart flutter.

A thought persisted in my mind: Could they really be my children? But I didn’t have the courage to ask her directly. Our divorce was not amicable. When we split, every word spoken carried a sharp edge. I knew she didn’t want to see me. And I also thought I had no right to meet her again.

Finally, I did the worst thing: I secretly approached the two children and stealthily took hair samples from them. I knew I was wrong, but the desperate desire to know the truth was so strong I couldn’t stop myself.

And then, I sent the samples for testing. The few days of waiting felt longer than the past eight years. When I held the DNA report in my hand, my hands trembled so much I nearly dropped the folder. The bolded results at the bottom of the page clearly indicated that the two children and I were related by blood.

My whole body felt empty. It turned out that for eight years, I had been living right outside the lives of the two children who belonged to me. A mix of joy, pain, and regret flooded me, making it difficult to breathe.

I decided I had to meet my ex-wife. The next day, I stood in front of her flower shop. When she saw me, she only paused for a second before instantly closing off her emotions, asking calmly:

“What are you here for?”

I placed the DNA report folder on the table. Her eyes skimmed over it, and her expression changed—it was subtle, but enough for me to feel my heart clench. I said:

“I know everything now. They are my children.”

A few days later, I went to see my ex-wife to talk about the two children. (Illustrative image)

A heavy silence followed. Finally, my ex-wife sighed:

“You shouldn’t have shown up here. You shouldn’t have done this. Have you forgotten? When we divorced, you said that no matter what happened in the future, you would never want to see me again. I didn’t want to create more wounds, so I didn’t say anything. I also thought you would live a lighter life without any constraints.”

I was choked up. I remembered the cruel words I had spoken, and the hurt in my ex-wife’s eyes back then. And I understood why she kept silent.

“I was wrong, but they are my children. I want to meet them. Please allow it. I want to make it up to them, and to you.”

She didn’t answer right away. After a moment, she opened the door leading to the backyard. The two children were playing with a small potted plant, laughing and arguing about over-watering it. When she called, they looked up, their eyes innocent and clear.

My ex-wife looked at them, then at me, and gently said:

“Kids… this is your father.”

Time seemed to stop. The two children looked at me curiously, with no sense of distance. In that instant, I saw a very simple truth: even though I had missed 8 years, I still had a chance. A chance to start over, to make amends, to become the person they could call “Dad” without hesitation.

I took a deep breath and stepped toward them. And for the first time in many years, I felt like I was walking in the right direction.