I know my son is not biologically mine

Dear Delyara, My son is twenty-seven. Last year, a medical test revealed that I am not his biological father. My wife admitted she had an affair shortly before becoming pregnant. She begged me not to tell him because, in every way that matters, I raised him. I agree with that sentence until I see him discussing family medical history or joking that he inherited my bad knees. He and his fiancée are trying to have a baby. Their doctor may ask questions built on information that is false. My wife says disclosure would only relieve my conscience by burdening him. Perhaps she is right. I have not stopped loving him. That is not the problem. The problem is that every childhood memory now contains a person I did not know was present: the man whose body helped create my son and then disappeared. Last Sunday, my son brought me a framed photograph from his wedding and wrote, “To the best dad I could have been given.” I locked myself in the bathroom and cried. I am his father. I am also participating in a lie about his own body. I do not know which truth has the greater right to reach him.