The aftermath of a visitation.

I was visited by a ghost, recently. The ghost brought 2 "adult" children with her. She said the youngest was mine.
I find myself dealing with so many emotions, lately. I don't really trust myself with this responsibility. I'm not currently equipped to function smoothly in that capacity. Nor, I fear, will I ever be again.
The ghost stopped just short of saying that she would re-materialize, in my world, and assume a presence therein. It was as if she was waiting for me to say the magic word and the whole world would change.
What was that word? "Yes," I suppose.
It would have been rash of me to say that word. It would have been rash of her to act upon it.
She has begun to fade, again - drifting off, in a spectral fashion, the way ghosts do. Especially this ghost. She has re-entered her own realm and has begun to settle into its bosom, assuming her natural physicality. As it should be, I guess.
The child, her child - is he my child? I have begun to have my doubts. It's odd - I felt somewhat elated at the idea that he could be mine. I still do, in a way. Sadly, I can't completely give myself over to that notion. I've become quite the cynic in my old age. And I'm fairly certain that I will die alone, with no flesh and blood progeny to mourn me.
It was foolish to entertain thoughts of a new life - with my old life.
If you believe in pre-ordination, then everything is working out the way it was always meant to.
Me? I don't especially believe in fate.

Life is strange.