Paula opens a package addressed to her husband. Inside is a tiny onesie and a letter with the words, “Our baby is due in two months.” But she isn’t pregnant.
Panic grips her. Is this a cruel mistake?
A twisted joke?
Or is her perfect life about to unravel in ways she never imagined?
Life has a way of testing us when we least expect it.
Sometimes, it’s not the truth that hurts us but the stories we tell ourselves in the absence of it.
Mark and I had been together for 15 years and married for 13. We tied the knot when we were both 26, had two kids, and had weathered every storm together.
He was my rock in a world full of uncertainties.
I loved how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, how he’d bring me coffee every morning without me asking, and how he still looked at me like I was the most beautiful woman in the room, even when I was in sweatpants with unwashed hair.
“You’re my person,” he’d whisper at night. “Always have been, always will be.”
When Emma was born, he took three weeks off work to help me adjust, learning to change diapers with the same precision he applied to everything.
When Jack came along two years later, he’d stay up for midnight feedings so I could sleep, rocking our son and humming softly.
Our marriage wasn’t perfect.
No real marriage is.
We argued about finances, disagreed on parenting approaches, and occasionally went to bed still annoyed with each other. But we always made up.
We always found our way back to each other.
When my father died unexpectedly five years ago, Mark held me together. He took care of the kids, managed the funeral arrangements, and sat with me through countless sleepless nights as I processed my grief.
“We’re a team,” he’d remind me.
“Your struggles are my struggles.”
Everything was going well, or at least as well as life with two pre-teens and demanding jobs could go. We had plans for our twentieth anniversary, talked about where we might retire someday, and discussed how to start saving for the kids’ college funds.
Until that Tuesday when the parcel and letter arrived.
It was addressed to him, but curiosity got the best of me. Inside, I found a baby onesie and a letter.
It read, I know you said you couldn’t tell her yet, but our baby is due in two months.
Please don’t let us down.
My hands went numb.
Our baby? I thought. Whose baby is this?
Is Mark… cheating on me? Is he seeing someone else?
I barely noticed my husband walk in until I felt his presence beside me. He didn’t say a word.
Just stared at the letter in my shaking hands.
“I can explain,” he whispered.
My vision blurred with unshed tears. How could he?
We had been through everything together. We had enjoyed our time as high school sweethearts, navigated life as broke newlyweds, and struggled as first-time parents.
And now this?
“Explain?
Explain what?” My voice cracked. “That you have another family? Another child?!”
“No!” he protested.
“God, no. It’s not mine. Just… please, sit down.”
I didn’t want to sit.
I wanted to scream. But something in his eyes made me pause. I crossed my arms.
“You have sixty seconds.”
He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s my parents.”
“What?” I blurted out. “Your parents?”
“They’re adopting.”
That was not what I expected.
“Adopting?”
“My cousin… remember?
The one who got pregnant? She doesn’t want the baby. And her mother, my mom’s own sister, is calling the baby a mistake, a burden.
She refuses to help. So, my parents… they decided to take the baby in. They can’t afford it, though, not on their retirement savings.
They asked me for help, so…”
I stared at him, trying to process this information. “Your cousin… you mean Jenna? The one who came to Emma’s birthday last year?”
Mark nodded.
“She’s only 24, Paula. She’s not ready for a baby, and honestly, I don’t think she ever will be. But Mom and Dad couldn’t stand the thought of their own family member going into the system.”
“And this letter is from your mom?
Linda?”
“Yes,” he said, relief washing over his face as he realized I was starting to understand. “She’s been so stressed about it. Dad’s pension only covers so much, and they’ve already dipped into their savings to prepare for the baby.
They need our help.”
I sank into a chair, my legs suddenly weak. The anger that had been building inside me deflated, replaced by uncertainty.
“So, the onesie…”
“Mom bought it. She’s been getting a nursery ready.
Dad’s even building a crib. You know how he loves his woodworking. They’re excited but terrified at the same time.
Starting over with a baby at their age…”
I ran my fingers over the soft fabric of the onesie. It has the words “Grandpa’s Little Helper” printed on it.
My father-in-law, Bill, had always been good with his hands, fixing everything from leaky faucets to broken toys. Of course, he’d want to pass those skills down.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
The betrayal I’d felt moments ago was fading, but a new hurt was taking its place.
The hurt of being left out. Of not being trusted with this family decision.
Mark knelt beside my chair, taking my hands in his. “I was going to.
I swear. I just… we’re already stretched so thin, Paula. The mortgage, the kids’ activities, and your student loans… How could I ask you to take on more?”
“You should have trusted me with the truth,” I said quietly.
“We’re supposed to face these things together.”
He nodded, squeezing my hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry.
I was trying to figure out a solution before I brought it to you, but Mom got impatient. The baby’s coming in two months, and they’re panicking.”
My heart pounded in my ears.
I sat quietly for a moment and thought about everything. Linda and Bill were in their mid-sixties, well into retirement.
Taking on an infant would change everything for them, including their daily routines, their finances, and their plans for enjoying their golden years.
“How much do they need?” I finally asked.
Mark looked surprised at the question.
“About five hundred a month, at least for the first few years. Just until they adjust their retirement funds.”
“Okay…” I said. “I’ve got a plan…”
“What plan?” Mark’s head snapped up.
“We’ll figure it out,” I repeated.
“I can push for that promotion at work. If I get it, my salary increase will help. We’ll budget.
We’ll make it work. Your parents are doing something incredible, and I want to help.”
For the first time since he walked in, his face lit up.
“You’re amazing,” he said, reaching for my hands. “I don’t deserve you.”
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