With nothing unusual about his morning routine, Steve bids his spouse farewell before heading off to work. But as the day goes on, his child starts to text and contact him urgently. Nothing is as it seems when he gets home. He now has a weeping child, a pregnant wife carrying a child who might not be his, and an unfamiliar stranger living with him. What is the meaning of all this? The day got off to a typical start. As I departed for work, my three-month-pregnant wife gave me a farewell kiss with a grin as consoling as the sun in the morning.I told her, “I’ll cook when I get home.” “Stop worrying about it.”
Being a homemaker, I knew Laura would get our son, Jackson, ready for school and out the door before going back to bed. She would have her morning tea and read a novel before logging into work. I listened to presentations and reviewed marketing concepts all day long, while also coming up with baby names for the child we would meet in a few months. But my phone began to buzz loudly as the workplace clock approached two o’clock. As I glanced at the computer, I saw my son’s name flash. I had to tell him to shut up since I was in the middle of a meeting.
He was probably wondering whether he could go out after school because he knew Jackson. He and his friends had fallen in love with bowling, and they were often trying to talk their way out of extracurricular activities. A knot formed in my gut as my phone lighting up a second time; Jackson’s text message, delivered just seconds after I ended his second conversation, was filled with urgency. Please come home, Dad! It concerns Mom! I’m terrified. I felt pure, unadulterated panic coursing through me. I quickly left the meeting and made my way to the parking lot, trembling as I dialed my son’s number.
But Jackson didn’t pick up when I called. When I called my wife, she gave me the same unsettling silence in response. I squeezed the pedal, my heart hammering into my chest, my thoughts racing with all the horrifying possibilities. Every sluggish motorist tried my waning patience, and every red light was a torturous wait. My imagination was running wild. Laura had been in an accident of some kind. That there was a bloody mess in the restroom or kitchen.
When I pulled onto our street and saw my mother, pallid on the porch, my breath caught. She just stood there, clenching and releasing her fists every few seconds. I questioned, “What on earth is going on?” “Is Laura doing okay?” She said, her voice trembling, “I’m so sorry, Steve. The ground is slipping way beneath me.” How come? Not at all! What took place? Is this the infant? Mom, tell me! My mother’s subsequent comments struck a fresh, unexpected chord, which temporarily confused her. Her agonized gaze found mine, and I knew that whatever news followed would not be good.
She told me, “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, so I apologized.” However, Laura has been unfaithful to you. The globe stopped revolving. The astonishment was pierced through by the treachery. My mother had come back to use our bathroom, it turned out.
She said, “I just wanted to come over and shower because my building doesn’t have any water.” “She was with him when I came in.” Laura was with the man she was seeing when my mother intervened, sitting on the couch. When I got home, my mother wanted him to be there, so she couldn’t let him go.I felt a wave of anger and pain go through me as I shoved past her into the house. It was a scenario out of a strange nightmare: a disheveled, uncomfortable man trying to get away from me.
“Who are you?” I snarled deep in my voice, directed at the man in my living room. He started to talk, but my ears were pounding so hard I couldn’t hear him. Then she was out of there. Laura. my spouse. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her face looked pale. Her gesture of reaching out to me felt so strange today, even though it was so familiar at the time. She cried and murmured, “Steve.” “I apologize so much; I never intended to cause you such pain.” “Apologies?” My laughter sounded hollow and harsh. “You ruin our family, and you apologize?”Our kid was crying and trembling in the living room doorway when the sound of his sobbing filled the room.
My anger was sliced open by the sight of him, a witness to our deteriorating lives, and was replaced with a deep melancholy. I gently said, “Come here, buddy,” and reached out to embrace him. “Mom, why?” he asked. “What made you do that?” Jackson’s query was simple but filled with hurt and confusion, his voice muffled against my shirt. It turned out that he had entered as my mother was addressing Laura, and his initial assumption was that Laura had experienced something since she was weeping. He desired to keep her safe. But after that, his grandma brought him into the kitchen and told him the truth while she made him a sandwich. Laura crouched next to us, her hand extended, but I pulled him in close.
Her voice broke as she said, “People make terrible mistakes sometimes.” “That doesn’t mean I don’t care for you both, though.” I softly murmured, “But it does mean that things can’t stay the same,” as reality began to sink in. The news that my wife had cheated on me was shocking to me. I started to doubt everything, even Laura’s pregnancy and the baby’s father. Laura and I sat on the couch and she reached out to me. She spoke of promises and her desire to put things right. However, I failed to see how we could get through it and be right.
After this, I was at a loss for how Jackson was going to live in a home with two loving and trustworthy parents. I went out to dinner with Jackson later that night. We had to get out of our house and the bad vibe that had settled there. We required a vacation. While he was eating his burger, he asked, “Will you move out?” “No,” I told him. “Sure, Mom and I need to work things out, but I’m not leaving.” He said, “I thought Mom wasn’t okay.” “My mother was weeping when Gran called to attempt to get her out of the bathroom when I arrived home from school. I was unaware that a second man was living there. “Where was that?”
Jackson clarified, “Gran told me he was sitting on your bed. We were not in the mood to go after supper. There was a mismatch between what was happening and our home. However, I felt thankful to have Jackson by my side. Later that night, when I got home, I found Laura sitting on the couch, chewing her nails—something she often did when she was anxious. “So what now?” she asked. Tell me what has to be done. Explain to me how to put things right. She patted the couch and pulled the book nearer to her.
I answered, “I think that will be decided only by time.” “However, I must know the truth—is this baby mine?”
With her eyes closed, Laura inhaled deeply, struggling to control her uneasiness. It was radiating from her skin and into the room, I could feel it.”I have no idea,” she murmured. Laura decided to go to therapy in the upcoming weeks to figure out why she was behaving out. She said, “I didn’t think I’d be the one to do this,” while getting our tea ready. “However, you did,” I answered. Laura gave a nod. I told them, “I’m going to stay here until the baby is born.” “And we can decide on our marriage after we take a DNA test.” I’m not sure what will come next, but I do know that the reality of that exam is beyond what I’m prepared for.
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