My wife left me with our six daughters for a wealthy man. Fifteen years later she texted to say she’d be at our oldest daughter’s wedding — and my daughter told me to let her come, because she had already prepared a special welcome for her.

And in the last year before the wedding, Junia did something I knew nothing about until three days before it happened, when she sat me down and told me because she did not want me blindsided at my own daughter’s reception.

She found Roland Frayne.

Not hard — the man’s name is on a building in Bristow Vale. She went to his office in the March, made an appointment under her own name, sat down across the desk from him and said she was Sabina’s daughter.

And Roland Frayne said, “Sabina doesn’t have children.”

He said it politely. He said it the way you correct somebody about a bus timetable.

Fifteen years. He had been married to that woman for thirteen of them. He had two grown children of his own from his first marriage — the new family in her text message — and neither they nor he had ever been told that six girls existed.