A man had four sons. The elder three were tall, muscular and blonde. The fourth son was a brunette and lanky.
The man always questioned if the last son was his. It would eat him inside. But to keep the sanctity of his marriage and family he never bought the topic up.
On his deathbed, he held his wife close and asked her "Darling, is the last child mine? Be truthful so I can die a peaceful death."
The wife replied "Yes dear. He is your own flesh and blood."
The husband breathed his last, content with a smile on his face.
His wife, wiping her tears, felt relieved he didn't ask about the other three.
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