The day began like any other. My pregnant wife, Laura, kissed me goodbye as I left for work. I told her I’d cook dinner and knew she’d relax with tea and a book before starting her remote job.
Later, during a meeting, I got two calls from our son, Jackson. I silenced them, assuming he wanted to hang out with friends. But then his text came through: “Dad, please come home! It’s about Mom! I’m scared.”
Panic surged. I rushed home, unable to reach either of them. When I arrived, my mother was waiting, pale and tense.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, then revealed Laura had been cheating. She’d stopped by unexpectedly and found Laura with another man in our home. Jackson had seen some of it too.
I stormed inside. There he was — the man. Laura appeared, crying and apologizing. I was gutted. Jackson, confused and heartbroken, clung to me, asking his mother why.
That night, I took Jackson out to dinner. We needed space. He shared more — that Gran had told him the truth over a sandwich. The man had been in our bedroom.
Back home, Laura asked what now. I told her only time would decide — but I needed to know if the baby was mine.
“I’m not sure,” she whispered.
Laura began therapy, trying to understand her actions. I agreed to stay until the baby’s born and a DNA test confirms the truth.
I don’t know what comes next. But I’m not ready for the answer.