Steve begins his day like any other — nothing out of the ordinary, just a man saying goodbye to his wife as he leaves for work. But as the day moves on, he receives urgent calls and texts from his son. When he gets home, nothing is as it seems. Now, there's a strange man in his house, a pregnant wife with a baby that may not be his, and a crying son. What does it all mean?
The day started like any other. My wife, three months pregnant, kissed me goodbye as I left for work, her smile as reassuring as the morning sun.
A couple kissing | Source: Pexels
"I'll cook when I get home," I told her. "Don't worry about it."
Laura worked from home, so I knew that she was going to get our son, Jackson, ready for school and out the door before heading back to bed. There she would read a book and have her morning cup of tea before logging onto work.
A woman reading in bed | Source: Pexels
I worked through the day, approving marketing strategies and listening to presentations, all the while thinking of baby names for the little tot we were going to meet in a few months.
But as the office clock ticked past two, my phone vibrated insistently. Glancing at the screen, I saw my son's name flashing. I was in a meeting, which was in full swing, so I had no choice but to silence his call.
A man sitting in an office and using his phone | Source: Pexels
Knowing Jackson, he probably wanted to ask if he could go out after school. He and his friends had discovered the thrills of bowling, and they often tried to finesse their way into after-school hangouts.
A bowling lane | Source: Pexels
When my phone lit up a second time, a knot tightened in my stomach — urgency pulsed through the text that Jackson sent, seconds after I silenced his second call:
Dad, please come home! It's about Mom! I'm scared.
Panic, raw and unfiltered, coursed through me. Excusing myself from the meeting, I rushed to the parking lot, my hands trembling as I dialed my son's number.
A person using a phone | Source: Pexels
But my call to Jackson went unanswered. I tried my wife next but was met with the same eerie silence.
With my heart pounding against my chest, I floored the accelerator, my mind racing with dreadful possibilities.
A man driving | Source: Pexels
Every red light was a torturous wait, every slow driver a test of my fraying patience. I was thinking the worst. That Laura had been in some kind of accident. That there was a pool of blood in the kitchen or bathroom.
Turning onto our street, my breath caught at the sight of my mother standing on the porch, her face pale. She stood there, her fists clenching and unclenching every few seconds.
An older woman standing outside | Source: Pexels
"What on earth is going on?" I asked. "Is Laura okay?"
"I'm so sorry, Steve," she said, her voice faltering, and the ground giving in beneath my feet.
"What? No! What happened? Is it the baby? Tell me, Mom!"
My mother looked confused for a moment, and then her next words struck a different, unforeseen chord. Her eyes met mine, filled with a sorrow that immediately told me whatever news came next, it wouldn't be good.
A shocked man | Source: Pexels
"No, darling," she said. "She is fine!"
"Then why did you apologize?" I asked, wondering why I was still standing on the porch instead of rushing to see my wife.
But there was something about my mother's overall energy that made me feel uneasy. I put my briefcase down at my feet, waiting for her to say something.
A man holding a briefcase | Source: Unsplash
"I apologized because I didn't want to be the one to tell you," she said. "But Laura has been cheating on you."
The world stopped spinning. The betrayal sliced through the shock.
It turned out that my mother had come home because she wanted to use our bathroom.
A white ceramic bathtub | Source: Unsplash
"My building doesn't have any water, and I just wanted to come over and shower," she said. "I came in, and there she was with him."
It turns out that when my mom walked in, Laura had been on the couch with the man she was having an affair with. My mother couldn't let him leave; she wanted him to be there when I got home.
A couple sleeping on a couch | Source: Pexels
A mix of anger and agony surged through my veins as I pushed past her into the house. The scene before me — a man, disheveled and awkward, trying to avoid my gaze — was like a surreal nightmare.
"Who are you?" my voice was a low growl, directed at the stranger in my living room. He started to speak, but I couldn't hear him over the blood roaring in my ears.
An angry man sitting down | Source: Pexels
Then, she appeared. Laura. My wife. Her face was ashen and her eyes brimming with tears. She reached out to me, a gesture which was once so familiar, yet felt so alien now.
"Steve," she said through her tears. "I'm so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you like this."
"Sorry?" my laughter came out bitter, hollow even. "You destroy our family, and you're sorry?"
