Old Jack only had moments to live. At his bedside were his family – his wife and four sons, three of whom had blond hair, the other had ginger.
“Em, tell me please, I’ve always wondered why one of our sons had red hair. Is he really my son?”
Emma put her hand on her heart and swore fervently that, yes, he was his son.
“Oh thank goodness,” croaked the old man and he died with a smile on his face.
As the family left the room, the wife sighed deeply. “Thank heaven he didn’t ask about the other three.”
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