“I Had Your Son, But We Don’t Want Anything from You,” the Mistress Called Nick looked at Laura with the eyes of a guilty puppy. — Yes, you heard right. Laura, I had an affair about six months ago. It was just a few casual meetings, nothing serious. And now—she’s had my son. Recently… Laura’s head spun. What a revelation! Her faithful, loving husband—now there’s a child with someone else! It took every ounce of her focus to grasp what he was saying. For several minutes, she tried to process her husband’s words. He sat opposite her, shoulders slumped, hands squeezed between his knees. He looked smaller than usual, as if the air had been sucked out of him. — A son, then,— Laura repeated. — You, a married man, have a new son. Born not to your wife—that is, not to me… — Laura, I honestly didn’t know. I swear. — Didn’t know where babies come from? You’re forty, Nick. — I didn’t know she… that she’d decide to keep it. We broke it off ages ago—she went back to her husband. I thought all was well. Then yesterday, the phone rings. “Nick, you have a son. Seven pounds, healthy.” And she hung up. Laura stood, her legs weak, knees wobbly as if she’d run a marathon. Outside, autumn was howling. She couldn’t help but admire the view—beautiful… — So what now? — Laura asked, not turning around. — I don’t know. — Great answer—from the man of the house. “Don’t know.” She spun on her heel. — Are you going to see them? At the hospital? Frightened, Nick met her gaze ashamedly. — She gave me the hospital address, said discharge is the day after tomorrow. She literally said: “Come if you want; don’t if you don’t. We want nothing from you.” Proud… Doesn’t want a thing… — “Nothing,” — Laura echoed. — Oh, the innocence. The front door banged in the hall—the older boys were home. Laura instantly pasted on a smile. She was good at this—years in business had taught her to keep a poker face even when the deal was crumbling. Her eldest—a tall, broad-shouldered lad of twenty—stuck his head in. — Hey, parents. Why the long faces? Mum, is there food? We’re starving from training. — Leftover dumplings in the fridge—heat them up, — Laura tossed. — Dad, you promised to check my old clunker’s carburettor, — the younger one thumped Nick on the shoulder. Laura watched the scene, heart twisting painfully. They called him Dad. Their real father had faded out of their lives years ago, only sending maintenance payments and occasional cards. Nick had raised them. Taught them to drive, patched up scraped knees, went to parents’ evenings, sorted their troubles. He was their real dad. Nick forced a smile: — I’ll look, Sanjay. Later. Let me finish talking with your mum. The boys left, rattling plates. — They love you, — Laura said softly. — And you… — Laura, don’t. I love them too. They’re my lads. I’m not going anywhere. I told you straight—I was out of my mind. A mistake. With her… it was just… temptation. — Temptation. Which now means nappy changes… Six-year-old Maisy dashed into the kitchen. That broke Laura’s armor. Daughter threw herself into Dad’s lap. — Daddy! Why are you sad? Did Mum tell you off? Nick hugged her, nose buried in her light hair. He lived for her. Laura knew: for Maisy, he’d fight lions. It was wild, unconditional fatherly love. — No, princess. We’re just having a grown-up talk. Go put a cartoon on—I’ll be right there. Once Maisy had run out, silence fell again. — Do you realise everything’s different now? — Laura asked. She sat down at the table. — I’m not leaving, Laura. I love you, I love the kids—I couldn’t do life without you… — That’s just words, Nick. Facts: you’ve got a son now. He’ll need a father. That woman says, “we don’t want anything now.” That’s hormones, elation, maybe a tactical move. Give it a month, six months—the child gets ill, grows up, needs money. She’ll ring. “Nick, he needs a winter coat.” Or “Nick, he needs a doctor.” And you’ll go. You’re just that kind. Honourable. Nick was silent. — And the money, Nick? — Laura lowered her voice—Where will you find it? He flinched—that was the sore spot. His business had collapsed two years earlier; Laura’s money had paid off the debts. Now he worked, hustled, earned, but it was pennies compared to what she brought in. The house, cars, holidays, kids’ education—she paid for all of it. He didn’t even have his own card—all his accounts were frozen by collectors; he used cash or Laura’s linked card. — I’ll find it,— he muttered. — Where? Taxi nights? Or will you raid my bedside drawer to support your love child’s family? Can you see how ridiculous that is? I fund the household and you use my cash to support your mistress’s love child? — She’s not a mistress! — Nick snapped.— It ended six months ago! — But a child binds people more tightly than any marriage licence. Are you going to the discharge? The question hung in the air. Nick rubbed his face. — I don’t know, Laura. Honestly. Human decency… I should. It’s hardly the baby’s fault. — Human decency, — Laura said wryly. — And what about human decency towards me? To Maisy? The boys? You’ll go, hold that bundle. That’s it. You’ll get drawn in. I know you—you’re sentimental. It’ll start once a week, then two, then weekends. You’ll lie—you’re staying late at work. While we all just sit here and wait. Laura got up, ran the tap, watched the water, turned it off. — She’s eight years younger, Nick. Thirty-two. She’s given you a son. Your own. My boys aren’t yours—though you raised them. But this one—your blood. And you think that means nothing? — Don’t talk nonsense. The boys are mine—I raised them. — Oh, come on! Every man wants a ‘proper’ heir. — We’ve got Maisy! — Maisy’s a girl… Nick leapt up. — Enough! Why are you chucking me out before I’ve even left? I said—I’m staying with the family. But I can’t just be heartless. There’s a living person there. Mine, yes. I’ve let you down—let everyone down. If you want—kick me out. I’ll pack and go now. I’ll stay at Mum’s, a mate’s, a bedsit—wherever. But don’t blackmail me! Laura froze, suddenly scared. If she said “go”—he’d go. Proud. Foolish, but proud. He’d end up there, no money, no home—and make a new life as a pauper-hero-emergency father. And that would be the end. And she didn’t want that. For all the hurt she loved him. The kids loved him. It takes seconds to smash things; life to mend them. How to live, afterwards, in a home echoing with his absence? — Sit down, — she said quietly. — Nobody’s kicking you out. Nick lingered a second, then sat. — Laura, forgive me. I’m a fool… — A fool, — she agreed. — But you’re our fool. The evening passed in a blur. Laura did homework with Maisy, checked her work emails, but her mind was elsewhere. She pictured the other woman. What was she like? Pretty, of course. Young. She was probably looking at that baby, thinking she’d won. Nothing needed from us! Of course—the flawless move. Don’t ask or beg, just announce: here’s your son, we’re proud, we’ll cope ourselves. Nothing gets to a man’s pride faster. He instantly wants to play the hero. Nick tossed and turned, slept fitfully. Laura lay awake in the dark. She was forty-five—lovely, polished, successful, but old age wasn’t far off. And that other one—youth… *** By morning it felt worse. Laura couldn’t settle. The boys left, then Maisy suddenly acted up. — Daddy, do my plaits! — she demanded. — Mum does them wonky. Nick took the brush. His big hands—just as good at steering wheels as hammer handles—gently teased the fine hair. He plaited carefully, tongue sticking out with focus. Laura drank her coffee and watched. Here he was. Her husband—real, warm, hers. And somewhere else there was a child who had a claim on him too! How could that be? — Nick,— she said once Maisy had dashed off —We need to settle this. Now. He put the brush down. — I’ve thought all night. — And? — I’m not going to the hospital. Laura felt something inside her tighten, but showed nothing. — Why not? — Because if I go, I’ll give hope—to her, to myself, to the baby. I can’t father two homes. I don’t want to—I don’t want to lie to you, don’t want to steal time from Maisy or the boys. I made my choice eleven years ago. You’re my wife, my family’s here. — And that boy?— Laura was surprised at her own question. — I’ll support him financially. Officially, with child support, or we’ll open an account. But visits—no. Better he grows up not knowing me than waiting for me on weekends. And me—always glancing at my watch, desperate to get home to my real family. It’s fairer. Laura was quiet, twisting her wedding ring. — Are you sure? Won’t you regret it? — I will,— Nick admitted. — Of course I’ll wonder how he’s doing. But if I start going there, I’ll lose you. I know you won’t stand for it. You’re strong, Laura—but not made of stone. You’ll end up hating me—and I can’t bear that. God, I’m explaining terribly… He stood, came behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. — Laura, I don’t want another life. I have you—the kids. That… that’s the cost of my mistake. I’ll pay with money—only money—not with time, not love, not care. Laura put her hand over his. — You’ll pay? — she managed a wry smile. — I’ll earn it. I’ll make it work. I’ll never take a penny from you for my mistakes. That’s my problem, Laura. Finally, she felt calmer. Yes—maybe he’d hurt her, but these were the words she needed. She was never sharing her husband; she didn’t care about the other woman’s feelings. Had a child with a married man? Her problem, not Laura’s. *** Nick didn’t go to the hospital. The mistress bombarded his phone for weeks—shouting, crying, demanding why he hadn’t come. Nick was upfront: she could expect money, but there’d be no meetings. The calls stopped, and for the next six months she disappeared—her number unreachable. And that suited Laura just fine.