I held up Wyatt’s favorite toy. As Jennifer looked on, Wyatt rolled over and reached for it.
“Oh my God, was that his first time?” She gasped, hands flying to her face.
I looked her in the eye and lied.
I hugged them both, trying to believe this was a harmless sort of deception.
From the armchair, Mom didn’t even look up from her crocheting.
“Isn’t the timing just perfect? You’re barely here, and yet Wyatt just happened to roll over now. It’s almost like it was rehearsed.”
I quickly changed the subject.
The lie became a habit, a secret routine in which I orchestrated Wyatt’s milestones like I was directing a movie.
On the day he started crawling, I lined the floor with Cheerios and belly-crawled beside Wyatt to coach him toward a memorable “first crawl” moment for Jen that evening.
“Delete that!” I sprang to my feet and rushed toward her.
Mom shook her head. “I’m going to send this to Jennifer. She deserves to know the truth.”
“No, she deserves to feel like she’s here.” I pressed my hands together.
“Please, Mom. I’m doing this for her…”
Mom pursed her lips. She tapped on her phone and showed me that she’d deleted the video.
“This is your last chance,” Mom continued.
“I’m not going to lie for you anymore.”
I couldn’t risk having Mom tell Jennifer what I’d been up to, so I promised myself that I wouldn’t recreate any more of Wyatt’s firsts for Jennifer.
But then he took his first steps while Jen was away on a business trip.
“One last time, please,” I pleaded with Mom. “It’s his first steps… it would mean so much to Jen to experience that moment.”
She wouldn’t listen to reason, so I just made sure she was out when I recreated Wyatt’s first steps.
I had to do something to make him seem less confident, so I hid beanbags in his onesie to make him wobble.
Wyatt stumbled forward, arms out, and Jennifer squealed.
“He walked!”
When Mom returned from the store, Jennifer excitedly showed her the video she’d taken of Wyatt walking.
Mom gave me a hard look before turning back to Jennifer.
“Don’t you find it strange that you’re always here for these momentous occasions? It’s not like you’re home much…”
I quickly steered Jennifer back into the living room. The whole carefully constructed house of cards I’d been building threatened to collapse, but I was in too deep.
As Jennifer grabbed her bag one morning, I held Wyatt up and prompted him to say good-bye to her.
“Did you hear that?” I gasped.
“His first good-bye!”
Jennifer’s face lit up. She took Wyatt and hugged him tight enough to make him squirm. I never would’ve imagined that would be the day everything blew up in my face.
That afternoon, Jennifer returned home early, still glowing, and gushed to Mom about Wyatt’s first good-bye.
Mom listened, nodded, and casually pulled out her phone.
Jennifer leaned in. Her smile grew even wider as she looked at the photo.
“Oh, there’s a video, too.” She reached out and tapped at Mom’s phone screen. The sound of Wyatt saying good-bye to the ducks the previous day (his real first good-bye) filled the room.
Time seemed to stand still as I watched Jennifer’s smile fade, her brow knit with confusion, then the pained look in her eyes as realization dawned on her.
I began to stammer an explanation, words tripping over themselves, but Mom cut in.
Jennifer lowered the phone. Her eyes landed on me. She didn’t say anything — she didn’t need to.
All the hurt and betrayal were clear in her gaze.
Then she turned and walked out of the room. I followed her, still trying to explain, but she locked herself in the bathroom.
Soft sobs echoed through the closed door, muffled but unmistakable.
Each one felt like a knife.
She shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? Grab the phone from her hands?
I told you to stop lying to her.”
A chill ran down my spine. “Did you let her see that video on purpose?”
Mom arched her eyebrows. “Luke, I tell people things to their faces because that’s honest.
I don’t know where you got this… flair for staging situations, but it wasn’t from me.”
Eventually, I heard Jennifer’s footsteps on the floor. I braced myself for angry words, but she sat beside me on the couch and lowered her head to my shoulder.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” she whispered. “Going back to work, providing, but I’ve been so scared that Wyatt wouldn’t know me.
That I’d become the person who shows up for the highlight reel but misses the real moments.”
I opened my mouth, but she continued.
She lifted her head, looked at me directly. Her eyes were red-rimmed but clear. “That was stupid.
And sweet. And completely idiotic.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I know.” She took a breath.
“But I need to stop trying to have it all perfectly. I need to accept that I’m going to miss things, and that’s the choice I made.” Her voice cracked. “Our choice.” She reached for my hand.
“No more fake firsts?”
“And no more guilt trips from your mother about me working?”
I glanced toward the kitchen, where Mom had made herself scarce. “I’ll handle it.”
Jennifer nodded. Then, after a pause, she added something that surprised me.
“She was right to tell me, you know. As much as I hate it, as much as it hurts. She was too blunt, as usual, but rather that than a family built on lies.”
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