I’ve always been Nick’s biggest cheerleader. From the moment we met at a barbecue six years ago—where his dad jokes and love for ’90s pop culture won me over—I knew he was the one. We married a year later, built a cozy life, and always communicated openly.
When Nick turned 34, he became focused on hitting a milestone before 35. His goal? Run a marathon. I fully supported him. He joined a Saturday morning running group and quickly bonded with his new friends, Jake and Chris. I never met them, but their stories filled our breakfast conversations.
Then, one Thursday, Nick forgot his phone. It rang—and I picked up. A cheerful woman said his daughter needed to be picked up from school. I froze. His daughter? The call ended before I could ask more. I checked the call log: multiple calls to “Parkview Elementary.” My mind spiraled.
We had always planned to have kids someday. But what if Nick already had one—and I never knew?
That Saturday, I pretended to sleep in and followed him. He went to the park, just like he always said. Jake and Chris were real. They trained together, just as he’d described. But then I saw a little girl run up—calling someone else “Daddy.” Nick didn’t even glance their way.
Relieved and embarrassed, I told him everything that night. He laughed—and explained: Jake had borrowed his phone when his died, to call his daughter’s school. The school saved Nick’s number in her file by mistake.
We laughed. Then I cried. Then we laughed again.
Now, every Saturday before a run, Nick teases, “Off to see my secret family!”