This story is a continuation of my submission, "Mr. Mom"
More Than Mr. Mom
===============
Seven years had passed since my divorce from Kate. The miserable cunt is still in town. She has been promoted and has been our towns school system superintendent for the last three years
My youngest daughter, Karla, was starting the second half of her sophomore year of high school. Just like her sisters before her, she was an A- student, a three letter athlete and active in the school's theater and music department..
Karla is the last daughter left at home. Kileigh is currently a junior at MIT and if her top grades continue, she'll stay at the school and complete her Master's degree in Mechanical Engineering. Kara is a freshman at Boston University and is studying finance and accounting.
Karla was only eight, when I divorced her lying, cheating, gonorrhea infected mother. While her older sisters were aware of their mother's betrayal and for the most part shunned her from their life, Karla didn't understand the full implications of Kate's actions. As a result, she had dinner with her Mom one or two days a week and often spent a weekend night at Kate's home.
I was in my office, on the second floor of an old converted barn that I'd inherited from my grandfather. I was disgusted with myself, as I reviewed the New Year's resolutions I'd made, just one month earlier.
1.Loss fifteen pounds. (I'd gained one)
2.Exercise for forty-five minutes a day. (I had missed seven days)
3.Eliminate after dinner snacks. (Fuck! I averaged two snacks and a beer each night)
4.Have sex twice a week. (I was averaging one play date a week)
5.Write one story a month and post it on Literotica. (It was early February and I hadn't posted a story)
6.Clean out the old files from my file cabinets.
Over the last quarter of a century, I'd collected enough paperwork in my personal and professional life to completely fill twenty three, four drawer file cabinets. I rarely went into the file room. In the last five years, nearly all of my files were stored on my computer and in the "cloud".
I had considered having an industrial shredding truck back up to the barn and dump the contents of each cabinet drawer into the shredder, but I knew that there were irreplaceable treasures buried in with the crap.
I had committed to cleaning one drawer a day and hadn't started the project. I tossed the list of resolutions onto my desk, grunted as I got out of my chair and walked to the file room. I pulled the oldest file drawer completely out of the cabinet and placed it a fold-out table. I pulled a large trash bucket to the side of the table and I started the task of combing through each file.
I'll admit that the project was much more fun than I thought it would be. I found the records of the first home I flipped, when I was a high school sophomore, working for my grandfather. I came across a folder that was filled with United States Government bonds that my daughter's grandparents had bought for them, early in their lives.
The file cabinets contained a treasure trove of old pictures, early school projects and report cards, original birth certificates and baptismal certificates.
On the fourth day of the project, my life went to shit. I found the files from my ex-wife's stay in the hospital, when she delivered Karla. I smiled at the costs listed in the paperwork, as compared to current prices.
And then I saw it. Kate, my ex had an O+ blood type listed in her records. It was impossible. I also had O blood type, as did my two oldest daughters. Karla, the youngest, had a much rarer B-.
Over the next several hours, I found six separate folders containing old medical records that confirmed our blood types. There wasn't a mistake. Karla wasn't my biological daughter.
After countless hours and several detailed plans to kidnap, torture and ship my ex-wife to an African whorehouse, in the bowels of a cargo ship, while the crew constantly gang raped her, I had an epiphany. I knew I couldn't do anything that might jeopardize the two precious years I had left with Karla, before she left home for college.
It took over a week to decide to keep this grotesque family secret quiet, for the time being. I was confident that my ex didn't know that I wasn't Karla's father. If she had, she would have fought for custody and most likely would have been given all three girls. At a minimum, I was grateful I was allowed to raise my daughters.
The only proactive action I took was to quietly have an official DNA test completed. The test confirmed what I already knew.
=================
Almost exactly two years later during the week between Christmas and New Year's, I was sitting at the dinner table with my three daughters. As always, it was a joy being surrounded by their teasing, laughing and hijinks.
I'd been preparing myself all day and when our meal was complete and the conversation slowed, I looked at Kileigh and Kara and said, "I need to have a talk with Karla. Will you clean up the dishes?"
Both girls agreed and teased their sister about being in trouble and getting grounded for the rest of her Christmas vacation.
I said to Karla, "Why don't you head over to my office? I want to talk with your sisters for a second."
Karla teased her sister's back, saying, "Look who's in trouble now!"
With a smile and a wave, she was out the back door and on her way to my office above the barn.
"What are your plans for tonight?"
Kara answered, "We're heading down to The Barn, to hang with the old high school crowd."
I nodded for a few seconds and tried to smile, but my emotions were starting to overwhelm me.
"Dad, is everything alright?" Kileigh asked.
It took a little time to regain my bearings. I asked the girls, "Would it be alright, if you cancel your plans? I have a feeling your sister is going to need you both."
"Is Karla alright?" asked Kileigh.
"Is she sick?" Kara wanted to know.
"She's not sick. I have to give her some very bad news. Actually, it's devastating news. I know she'll want your support."
"Tell us Dad!" Kara begged.
I had thought about telling the older girls first and hadn't made up my mind, until Kara asked her question.
"Your sister is eighteen and an adult. I need to tell her first. It won't take long. I'll let you know when I need your help."
I left the table and the worried girls and trekked across the back yard to my office.