He never has never spoken of it. Not to his wife. Not to his pastor. Not to his closest friends. For more than twenty years, the secret pressed against his chest like a heavy stone, a silent weight that never truly faded.
Forgiveness had come—he knew that. She knew that. They had built a life together despite the pain of that chapter. They had moved forward, choosing love over regret. Yet, even in the sanctuary of their faith and the warmth of their home, remorse lingered. He felt it in quiet moments. In the stillness before sleep. In sermons that touched on grace and redemption. He lived a life of faith, yet shame remained his shadow.
“When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy on me; my strength was sapped as in the heat of summer.” (Psalm 32:3-4)
I know the secret, though. Not because he wanted to confess, but because after years of carrying this burden, he couldn’t hold it alone any longer. As his Christian life coach, I became the one witness to his unspoken grief. The only one who knows that behind his strong faith, his steady marriage, and his outward contentment, was a wound time never quite healed.
The Lingering Question
He had always believed that love could overcome anything. That, with time and faith, even the deepest wounds could heal. But twenty years had passed, and the question still surfaced when he least expected it.
What if we had let this child be born?
Would he have been strong enough to love the child as his own? To see past the circumstances of conception and embrace the child with a father’s heart? He wanted to believe he would have. But doubt lingered. He feared resentment—that no matter how much he tried, a part of him might always see the child as a reminder of betrayal rather than a gift from God.
“Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy.” (Proverbs 28:13)
And yet, looking at his life now—the joy that surrounds him, the love of his wife, the laughter of his two grown children, the energy of his grandchildren filling their home—he knows what fatherhood has given him. He cherishes his family deeply. They are a blessing beyond measure.
But still, there is that silent thought. That empty space.
Would the lost child have been another light in his life? Another source of joy, laughter, love? Or would the struggle have consumed him, leaving his family fractured rather than whole?
“For Godly sorrow produces repentance leading to salvation, not to be regretted; but the sorrow of the world produces death.” (2 Corinthians 7:10)
Silent Grief in Faith
The world seldom speaks of men like him—of fathers who grieve in silence. Most discussions center around the mother’s sorrow, her pain, her regret. But his loss felt just as real. He had encouraged it. He had told himself it was the right decision. And though time had softened the sharp edges, it had never erased them.
Faith has told him he was forgiven. He believed it. His wife had healed as best she could, even if she never spoke of it. But silence did not mean peace.
“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9)
And so, he carries the burden—an unspoken weight.
A Question for Others
How many others carry this same grief? How many fathers sit in church pews, raising families, holding their grandchildren—while hidden in the depths of their hearts is a question that would never be answered?
“There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1)
Perhaps they, too, have walked in silent remorse.
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