My daughter married the man I loved… and now I’m pregnant with his father.
I never imagined my life would turn into one of those soap operas I used to mock. Yet here I am, sitting in my bathroom at three in the morning, clutching a pregnancy test with two pink lines, while my daughter sleeps in the next room with the man I once thought would be mine.
It all started two years ago when I met James at the café where I work. He was a regular, always ordering the same black coffee with no sugar. He had that smile that lit up the room and those eyes that made you feel like the only person in the world.
“Do you always work the morning shift?” he asked one ordinary Tuesday.
“Most days,” I replied, feeling my cheeks flush. “I like the quiet before the rush.”
“Me too,” he grinned. “Thats why I come here. Well, that and to see you.”
My heart raced like a schoolgirls. At forty-two, after a messy divorce, Id given up on ever feeling butterflies again.
Weeks passed, and our chats grew longer, deeper. He told me about his work as an architect, his dreams of touring Europe, how hed lost his mother the year before. I talked about my daughter Emily, my plans to open my own tea shop, my fears and hopes.
Then one day, he finally asked: “Helen, would you like to have dinner with me on Friday?”
I said yes without hesitation. That evening was perfectdinner at an Italian bistro, a stroll through the park, talking until late. I felt alive again, wanted, special.
But the next day, when I told Emily about my date, everything changed.
“James who?” she asked, eyes wide.
“James Whitmore,” I repeated. “Why?”
Her face went pale.
“Mum, hes… hes my new boss. I started at his firm last week.”
My world tilted. Of all the people, all the places…
“Hes amazing, Mum,” Emily went on, oblivious to my shock. “So clever, so kind. And handsome, dont you think?”
The next few months were agony. I watched Emily come home each day more smitten, gushing about James, how wonderful he was, how he made her feel. I smiled and nodded while my heart shattered.
James stopped coming to the café. Whatever wed started was impossible now. But when our eyes met at Emilys engagement party six months later, I knew he felt it too.
“Helen,” he whispered when we were alone in the kitchen, “Im so sorry.”
“Theres nothing to be sorry for,” I lied. “She loves you. Thats all that matters.”
“But I” he began.
“Dont,” I cut him off. “Please dont.”
The wedding was torture. Watching them exchange vows, promise forever, while I pretended to be happy for my daughter. That night, I cried like I hadnt in years.
But if I thought that was the worst of it, I was wrong.
I met Robert, Jamess father, at the reception. A distinguished man of fifty-five, a widower with a kind smile and sad eyes. We talked about our children, how happy they looked together, how hard it was to let them go.
“Fancy a coffee tomorrow?” he asked at the end of the night. “I think we both need to process this.”
Robert understood my pain in a way no one else could. Hed lost someone he loved too, though in a different way. Coffee turned to lunches, then dinners, then long talks until dawn.
We didnt mean to fall in love. We just wanted to fill the emptiness. But comfort turned into something deeper, more real than either of us expected.
“This is wrong,” I told him one night after wed first slept together.
“I know,” he murmured, stroking my hair. “But I cant let you go, Helen. Youre the only good thing thats happened since I lost my wife.”
For eight months, we kept our secret. Met at his flat, away from prying eyes. It was messy, riskybut it was ours.
Until tonight. Until this positive test.
“Mum? You alright?” Emilys voice startles me through the bathroom door.
“Yes, love,” I manage, my voice shaky. “Just… not feeling well.”
“Want me to make you tea?”
“No, dont worry. Go back to bed.”
Her footsteps fade, and Im left with my secret. In a few hours, Ill have to call Robert. Tell him were having a baby. A child wholl be my daughters brother-in-law.
How do I explain to Emily that her mother is pregnant with her husbands father? How do I tell her Ive been lying all this time? How do I shatter her happiness with my selfishness?
I look at myself in the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes, tangled hair. I dont recognize the woman staring back. When did I become the villain of my own story?
My phone buzzes. A text from Robert: “Cant sleep. Thinking of you. I love you.”
I close my eyes and breathe. Tomorrow, our lives change forever. Tomorrow, Ill have to find the words for the unforgivable.
But tonight, for a few more hours, I can pretend. That Im just a proud mother of a married daughter. Not a woman carrying the worst secret of her life.
I tuck the test into my bedside drawer, next to all the other lies Ive collected these months. Tomorrow, Ill have to be brave.
Tonight, I just need to survive.
