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Man finds his ideal existence--or does he?

Max's brother Daniel grabbed his shoulder and swung him around.

"Max, what are you doing?" he cried.

Max stared back into his brother's face. "You BASTARD!" he shouted. With all his might he swung his open hand against the side of Daniel's head, catching him flush on the cheek and knocking him to his knees.

Max moved swiftly to the door, opened it, and disappeared, leaving a stunned silence behind him. On the bed Martha was sobbing. Rachael moved to her, grabbing a cloth to wipe the saliva from her face.

"Mom? Are you all right? What on earth made Dad behave that way?" But Martha didn't answer. When Rachael gazed searchingly into her eyes Martha couldn't face her and silently turned away, still crying.

After a moment Rachael looked at Paul and Daniel. "Stay with her," she said. Then she ran out of the room in pursuit of her father.

She came running out of the hospital, looking around, out of breath. She saw Max sitting on a bench near the entrance, his head in his hands. She went to him and sat next to him.

"Dad, why were you so cruel just now? She's DYING, Dad-what were you thinking?" She tried to keep anger out of her voice, but the concern was evident.

He turned to her, all anger gone from his face now, looking old, haggard, and terribly sad. Without a word he handed her Martha's letter.

She began to read-then gasped, and stared at him in shock. She looked back to the letter, read it again, and then grasped his hand tightly.

"Dad-you mean you didn't know? You didn't know that she ... that we ... weren't actually your children? But she ... she said that you knew all about it ... she told us ... we shouldn't discuss it with you!"

Max gazed at her. He adored all his children-his children! He supposed he couldn't even call them that now! But he felt closest to Rachael, his baby, his last treasured little girl.

"Sweetheart," he said in a despairing voice, "She lied to you-to everyone. I didn't know anything about it until an hour ago."

Then, suddenly, he turned away from her, and his head was in his hands again, and he was weeping. She put her arms around him, her head against his shoulder, and began to cry.

********

The church was nearly full. More than 600 people had come to pay their respects. They sat quietly, listening to Father Martin conduct the service. The usual prayers were mixed with words of praise for Martha Franklin, for her love and devotion to her family, for her generosity to the community.

There was a small buzz of surprise when Max rose from the front row and moved up beside Father Martin. With tight lips, looking unwilling, Father Martin moved to one side and sat down, relinquishing the podium.

Max begain to speak, slowly and clearly, in a loud and resonant voice.

"I know it is unusual for anyone besides the priest to speak at a funeral, but I insisted. I made it clear to Father Martin, and to my family, that unless I could speak there would be no funeral. I am the husband of the deceased, and that is my right."

Max heard the murmuring, saw the people in the pews looking at one another. He went on.

"You've heard all about how Martha was a wonderful wife and mother, and a pillar of the community. Now I will tell you the truth.

"Martha and I were married in this church, 45 years ago. Some of you were here on that occasion, as we pledged to be faithful to one another, 'forsaking all others', for as long as we lived.

"My wife broke her vows to me, the vows she made here in the sight of God. She betrayed me. She committed adultery hundreds, if not thousands, of times. She bore children to four other men, and let me unknowingly raise them as my own."

The church echoed with a babble of shocked whispering. A few feet from Max sat Father Martin, looking stiff and unhappy.

Max continued, silencing the murmurs with his voice.

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