Four Boys With My Face Walked Into a Bathroom Hours Before My Wedding — Then I Heard Her Voice

A Choice I Never Thought I'd Make

I didn't go to the conservatory that night. I didn't propose to Sloane. Instead, I sat in my car outside the restaurant, watching the rain streak down the windshield, trying to process what I had just learned.

My father had destroyed my chance at happiness six years ago. And now, he was trying to control my future again — this time through a marriage that would benefit the family business. But I was done being a puppet.

I called Sloane first. She answered on the second ring, her voice sharp with impatience. "Dominic, where are you? Everyone is waiting."

"I'm not coming," I said.

There was a long pause. "What do you mean you're not coming?"

"I mean I can't do this. I can't marry you, Sloane. I'm sorry."

"Are you serious?" Her voice rose. "You're calling this off an hour before the proposal? Do you have any idea what this will do to my family? To my reputation?"

"I know," I said. "And I'm sorry. But I just found out I have four sons. Four children I never knew existed. And I need to figure out how to be their father."

Sloane was silent for a long moment. Then she said, quietly, "I always knew you were in love with someone else. I just didn't know who."

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"Don't be," she said. "Go find your family. But Dominic — be careful. Your father isn't going to take this lightly."

I hung up and called my father. He answered with a cold, "Where are you?"

"I know about Elena," I said. "I know what you did."

There was a pause. Then he laughed. "Ah. So you found out. I wondered how long it would take."

"You took her from me," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "You took my children from me."

"I took a problem off your hands," he said. "She was a distraction. A weakness. You were meant for bigger things."

"You're wrong," I said. "She was the only good thing in my life. And you destroyed it."

"Dominic, listen to me," my father said, his tone turning hard. "You have a responsibility to this family. To the business. You can't just walk away because you have some sentimental attachment to a woman and a few brats."

"They're not brats," I said. "They're my sons. And I'm done with you. Done with the business. Done with everything."

"You'll be back," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "You're a Moretti. It's in your blood."

"Then I'll cut it out," I said. And I hung up.

I spent the next few days in a haze. I hired a private investigator to find Elena — she had left the restaurant quickly, and I didn't even know where she was staying. The PI found her at a small house in Somerville, a modest two-bedroom place with a overgrown yard and a swing set in the back.

I drove there the next morning, my heart pounding. I parked across the street and watched for a while. The boys were playing in the yard, running around with a soccer ball, laughing. They looked so happy. So innocent.

I didn't know how to approach them. I didn't know how to be a father. I had never had a real one — my own father was a cold, distant man who showed love only through money and power. But I was determined to do better.

Finally, I got out of the car and walked up to the front door. I rang the bell. A moment later, Elena opened it, her eyes widening when she saw me.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice guarded.

"I need to talk to you," I said. "Please."

She hesitated, then stepped aside. "Fine. But keep your voice down. The boys are watching TV."

I walked into her living room. It was small but cozy, filled with toys and children's drawings on the fridge. I saw a photo on the mantel — Elena and the boys at a birthday party, all of them smiling. My heart ached.

"I broke the engagement," I said.

Elena's eyes widened. "You did?"

"Yes," I said. "And I told my father I'm out of the family business."

She stared at me, disbelief and hope warring on her face. "Why?"

"Because I want to be with you," I said. "I want to be their father. I know I've missed six years. I know I have no right to ask for anything. But I'm asking for a chance."

Elena shook her head. "It's not that simple, Dominic. You don't know what it's been like. I've raised them alone. I've worked three jobs. I've struggled to keep a roof over their heads. And now you show up and want to play daddy?"

"I don't want to play," I said. "I want to be there. For real. I'll do whatever it takes."

She looked at me for a long time. Then she said, "You need to earn it, Dominic. You can't just walk in and demand to be their father. You have to prove you're not going to abandon them like you did me."

"I didn't abandon you," I said, my voice breaking. "I thought you left me."

"I know," she said softly. "And I'm sorry for that. But I was scared. Your father threatened me. He said if I didn't leave, he would destroy you. And I couldn't let that happen."

I felt tears prick my eyes. "You did it to protect me."

"I did it because I loved you," she said. "And I still do. But love isn't enough. Trust has to be rebuilt. And that takes time."

"I have time," I said. "I have all the time in the world."

She nodded slowly. "Then start by meeting your sons. Properly. Not as a stranger in a bathroom."

I followed her into the living room, where the boys were sprawled on the floor watching cartoons. They looked up when we entered, and the one who had smiled at me in the bathroom — I now knew his name was Marco — pointed at me.

"Mommy, that's the man from the restaurant!"

Elena knelt down beside them. "Boys, this is Dominic. He's… he's your father."

They all stared at me, their little faces unreadable. Then the smallest one — I would learn his name was Leo — said, "We have a daddy?"

"You do," I said, my voice thick. "I'm sorry it took me so long to find you."

Marco crossed his arms. "Where were you?"

"I didn't know about you," I said. "I'm sorry. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."

They exchanged glances, then looked at Elena. She nodded encouragingly. "Why don't you show him your room?"

They hesitated, then Marco shrugged. "Okay." And they ran off, expecting me to follow.

I looked at Elena. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she said. "You still have to prove yourself. To them. And to me."

"I will," I said. "I promise."

I followed the boys up the stairs, my heart full of hope and fear. I had no idea how to be a father. But I knew I had to try.

The Truth About My Father

Over the next few weeks, I spent every spare moment with the boys. I took them to the park, helped them with homework, and learned their personalities. Marco was the leader, confident and protective. Luca was the quiet one, always reading. Matteo was the joker, always making everyone laugh. And Leo, the youngest, was the sensitive one, who clung to me whenever I left.

I also started working on ending my involvement with the family business. It wasn't easy — my father had a tight grip on everything, and I knew he wouldn't let go without a fight. But I was determined to build a legitimate life for myself, one I could be proud of.

One evening, I got a call from my brother, Vincent. "Dom, you need to come to the office. Dad wants to talk."

"I have nothing to say to him," I said.

"He says he has information about Elena. Something that might change your mind."

My blood ran cold. "What kind of information?"

"Just come," Vincent said. "Please."

I drove to the Moretti building, a towering glass structure in the Financial District. My father's office was on the top floor, with a panoramic view of the city. He was sitting behind his desk, looking every bit the powerful man he was — silver hair, sharp suit, cold eyes.

"Dominic," he said, gesturing to a chair. "Sit."

"I'll stand," I said.

He smiled. "Suit yourself. I hear you've been playing daddy to those boys."

"They're my sons," I said. "Not that you care."

"I care about this family," he said. "And I care about the business. You walking away is a problem."

"I'm done, Father. I told you that."

"You think you can just leave?" He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You think I built this empire so you could throw it away for a woman and four brats?"

"I'm not throwing anything away," I said. "I'm choosing my family."

"Your family is the Morettis," he said. "Not some woman from the North End."

"Elena is the mother of my children," I said, my voice hard. "And I will not let you hurt her again."

"I don't need to hurt her," he said, a smile playing on his lips. "I have something better. I have proof that she was never faithful to you."

I stared at him. "What?"

He pulled a folder from his desk drawer and tossed it onto the table. "Open it."

I hesitated, then picked it up. Inside were photographs — Elena with a man, a tall, handsome man, in various settings. A restaurant. A park. A car. They looked intimate. Close.

"He's been in their lives for years," my father said. "He's the real father, Dominic. Those boys aren't yours."

"You're lying," I said, my voice shaking.

"Am I?" He shrugged. "Check the dates. The boys were born in June. You two broke up in April. That means she was already pregnant when she left Boston. But who's to say the father is you?"

I felt my world tilt. No. It couldn't be true. They had my eyes. My gesture. My blood.

"I'll have the boys tested," I said. "And if you're lying, I'll make sure you pay."

"Do it," he said, his voice cold. "But know this — if those boys aren't yours, you'll lose everything. The woman, the children, and any chance of coming back to this family."

I left the office with the folder in my hands, my mind reeling. I didn't tell Elena about the photographs. I didn't want to hurt her. But I knew I had to find out the truth.

I arranged for a DNA test. Quietly. I took a sample from Marco and Leo, and I sent mine to the lab. The wait was agonizing. Every day, I looked at the boys and wondered if they were truly mine. Every time Marco touched the back of his neck, I felt a pang of hope.

Finally, the results came back.

I stared at the paper, my hands trembling. Then I drove straight to my father's office, the folder in my hand.

"They're mine," I said, throwing the results on his desk. "All four of them. The DNA match is conclusive."

My father glanced at the paper, his face unreadable. Then he looked up at me. "So they are."

"You tried to destroy me," I said. "You tried to take them from me. Again."

"I was testing you," he said. "I wanted to see if you would fight for them. And you did."

"I don't need your tests," I said. "I'm done with you. Done with this family. Done with the lies."

"You'll never be done," he said. "You're a Moretti. It's in your blood."

"Then I'll cut it out," I said. "Goodbye, Father."

I walked out of his office, and I didn't look back.