I made you something for dessert.”
There was a pause.
“Yes.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Darren’s coming?” he asked slowly. “I didn’t know I was having guests.”
Chills ran down my spine. “What do you mean?
When last did you see my husband?”
He sighed. “Hmm… I haven’t seen him in about six months.”
The kitchen seemed to tilt.
“I’m sorry?” I whispered.
“Hmm…
yes. I’ve been managing. My neighbor helps sometimes.
But Darren hasn’t visited.”
My heart started pounding so loudly I could barely hear him.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Certain.”
I forced a laugh. “Well, I must’ve gotten my wires crossed.”
We spoke for another minute, but I didn’t absorb a single word.
When I ended the call, I just stood there, staring at the wall.
If Darren hadn’t been going to his uncle’s house every Saturday for the past three months, where had he been going?
After almost three decades, was my husband having an affair?
I felt ridiculous even thinking it. Darren wasn’t careless or impulsive.
But he was lying.
I didn’t confront him that night.
Instead, I smiled when he walked through the door and casually asked him about work.
“Fine,” he said, setting his keys on the counter.
“You?”
“Same as always.”
I studied him while he washed his hands. His movements were normal.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I needed proof. I couldn’t accuse him without it.
And I couldn’t keep living in that space of not knowing.
After he’d fallen asleep, I slipped out to the garage.
My heart hammered as I opened his car door.
Darren had installed a dashcam the previous year after a minor fender bender. I remembered him explaining how it recorded every drive and stored footage on a memory card.
If he were lying, the truth would be there.
I removed the card and hurried back inside.
In the living room, I inserted it into my laptop, my hands shaking.
Rows of files appeared, each one labeled by date.
I was ready to see the worst betrayal: him with another woman.
I opened the most recent recording of his Saturday outing.
The video showed Darren driving down the highway.
Then he exited, not toward Michael’s house but in a different direction.
I clicked another file.
And another.
Every Saturday, same route.
Finally, I watched as the camera captured him pulling up in front of a small blue house in a quiet neighborhood.
But what I saw next made me sink into a chair.
The front door opened, and a young man stepped out.
He looked strikingly like Darren!
Same jawline, dark hair, and posture.
The young man walked to the driver’s side window.
Even through the audio distortion, I heard him say one word clearly.
“Dad.”
I could barely breathe from the shock.
In the video, Darren reached out and squeezed the young man’s shoulder.
The man got into the passenger side, and they talked inside the car for nearly 20 minutes.
Then the man went back inside.
I opened another file.
Same house, same young man.
In one clip, Darren handed him grocery bags.
In another, I saw my husband tapping on his phone while the young man looked on.
It looked like he was paying something, utilities, maybe.
Then I saw some envelopes with papers bearing a technical college logo, and more groceries, too.
I stared at the screen.
My husband wasn’t having an affair.
It appeared he had a son!
And he hadn’t told me.
I didn’t sleep a wink that night.
I sat at the kitchen table until almost 3 a.m., replaying the footage in my mind.
The word echoed in my head.
By the time I heard Darren’s alarm at 6 a.m., I had made a decision.
I wasn’t going to wait.
I was going to confront him.
He came into the kitchen dressed for work, loosening his watch strap.
“You’re up early,” he said carefully.
He studied me for a second. “Everything okay?”
“No,” I said. “It’s not.”
I slid my laptop across the table and opened the folder.
His face paled before the video even started playing.
“Baby…”
“Don’t,” I said sharply.
The screen showed the blue house, the young man walking toward the car, and him calling Darren “Dad.”
My husband closed his eyes.
“How long?” I demanded.
He ran a hand through his hair.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what I’m supposed to think!” My voice cracked. “You lied to me for months. You used your sick uncle as an excuse!”
“I know,” he said quietly.
“You know?
That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
He pulled out a chair and sat down slowly, as if his legs wouldn’t hold him.
“I was going to tell you,” he said.
“When? After another three months?
After a year?”
He didn’t answer.
“Is he yours?” I asked.
Darren looked at the paused frame on the screen, the young man frozen mid-step.
The word felt like a punch.
“How?” I whispered.
He swallowed hard. “Before we met. When I was 22, I dated someone for a few months.
We broke up. I never knew she was pregnant.”
He nodded. “I did one of those DNA testing kits three years ago.
I was curious about my heritage. I never thought… I didn’t expect anything to come from it.”
I stared at him.
“Six months ago, I got a message through the site,” he continued.
“A guy named Ethan said we matched as parent and child. I thought it was a mistake. I almost ignored it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.
I answered. We exchanged photos. Then we talked on the phone.”
“And you believed him just like that?”
“I didn’t at first.
I asked for another test. We met at a clinic. It confirmed it.”
My chest tightened.
“So you’ve known for six months.”
“And instead of telling your wife, you lied about caring for your uncle.”
“I panicked,” he said. “My uncle never had a stroke; he had a cold. I didn’t know how to tell you.
I was afraid you’d think I’d cheated or that I’d kept this from you on purpose.”
“You did keep it from me on purpose!”
“I know!” His voice rose for the first time. “I know, babe. I messed up.”
Silence filled the kitchen.
He looked exhausted.
“Honey, I didn’t even know what it was yet. Ethan’s 23. His mom raised him alone.
She never told him about his father. She didn’t even know for sure.”
“And you just started playing dad?”
“No. I started meeting him, talking to him, and trying to understand who he was.
He’s working part-time. His mom is sick. She has heart problems.
They’re struggling.”
He nodded. “I couldn’t walk away. He’s my son.”
The sentence hit differently.
My husband had a son.
“I wasn’t sure what my role was supposed to be,” Darren continued.
“He didn’t want to meet you until he understood me first. And I didn’t want to drag you into something messy before I knew what it meant.”
“You should’ve trusted me,” I said, softening.
“I know.”
I stood up and walked to the sink.
“Do you love him?” I asked without turning around.
“I don’t know him well enough to use that word yet,” Darren said honestly. “But I feel responsible.
And I care about him.”
I faced him.
He blinked. “What?”
“If this is real, if he’s part of your life, then he’s part of mine, too. I’m not going to sit here imagining things.”
He hesitated.
“I don’t know if he’ll agree.”
“Then ask him.”
***
Two days later, Darren told me Ethan was willing.
We drove to their house together the following Saturday.
The silence in the car was thick, but it wasn’t hostile anymore. It felt uncertain.
When we pulled into the driveway, my heart pounded just like it had when I watched the footage.
The door opened before we reached it.
Ethan stood there.
Up close, the resemblance was even stronger.
Darren cleared his throat. “Ethan, this is my wife, Claire.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Ethan said.
His voice shook slightly. “I know this is… weird.”
“That’s one word for it,” I replied gently.
He laughed nervously and stepped aside.
“Come in.”
The house was modest but tidy. A faint smell of medicine lingered in the air.
“My mom’s resting,” he said. “She has good and bad days.”
We sat at the small kitchen table.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then I decided I wasn’t going to tiptoe around it.
I asked Ethan how he found Darren.
Ethan revealed he’d messaged Darren while fearing he wouldn’t respond.
I studied the young man. He didn’t look manipulative, just nervous and hopeful.
Ethan leaned back in his chair. “I’m not trying to cause problems.
I just wanted to know where I came from.”
His words softened something inside me.
“Your mom,” I said carefully, “does she know Darren’s been helping?”
Ethan nodded. “She didn’t want him to. She said we’d managed this long without him.
But everything’s expensive. She couldn’t keep working.”
I looked at Darren.
Then I turned back to Ethan. “And what do you want from him?”
Ethan swallowed.
“I don’t know yet.”
The honesty in his voice cracked the last wall I’d built.
I reached across the table.
“Then we’ll figure it out together,” I said.
Darren exhaled shakily, like he’d been holding his breath for months.
Later that afternoon, we met Ethan’s mother, Laura. She looked tired but kind.
“I never meant to disrupt your marriage,” she said quietly.
“You didn’t,” I replied. “Secrets did.”
On the drive home, Darren kept glancing at me.
“Are you angry?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said honestly.
“But I’m also relieved.”
“That you weren’t having an affair,” I admitted. “This is complicated, not cruel.”
He reached for my hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should’ve been honest with you.”
“You should’ve,” I agreed.
“But we’re here now.”
In the weeks that followed, we started visiting together.
Sometimes we brought groceries, helped Laura with doctor appointments, or just sat and talked.
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