It was meant to be a peaceful weekend before the baby arrived—just us, the countryside, and the place where he’d “become the man” I loved. But the moment we arrived at his family’s grand farm, packed with relatives, my unease began. His mother’s polite but calculating gaze only deepened it, and later his cousin Jane warned me, “They like control—especially over the baby. He’s different when he’s here.”
The next morning, he casually suggested we raise the baby on the farm—decision seemingly already made. Feeling trapped, I wandered off and found an old barn. Inside was a photo of him with a woman who looked just like me—my mother. Confronted, he admitted they’d been together before I was born and that he’d brought me here to “make things right.”
It wasn’t just a weekend getaway—it was a collision with a past I never knew. I chose to stay and face it, because sometimes the only way forward is through the truth.