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 believed would be mine.
It all began two years ago when I met James at the café where I work. He was a regular, always ordering the same black coffee, no sugar. He had one of those smiles that lights up a room and 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 traveling through Europe, how he’d lost his mum the year before. I spoke about my daughter Emily, my plans to open my own tea shop, my fears and hopes.
Then, one day, he finally asked: “Sarah, would you like to have dinner with me on Friday?”
I said yes without hesitation. That evening was perfecta meal at a little Italian place, a walk through the park, talking until the early hours. For the first time in years, I felt alive, wanted, seen.
But the next morning, when I told Emily about my date, everything changed.
“James who?” she asked, eyes wide.
“James Hartley,” I repeated. “Why?”
Her face went pale.
“Mum… heshes my new boss. I started at his firm last week.”
My world tilted. Of all the places, all the people…
“Hes amazing, Mum,” Emily went on, oblivious. “So clever, so kind. And handsome, right?”
The months that followed were pure agony. I watched Emily come home each day more smitten, gushing about James, about how wonderful he was, how he made her feel. I smiled and nodded while my heart cracked.
James stopped coming to the café. Whatever had started between us was impossible now. But when our eyes met at Emilys engagement party six months later, I knew he still felt it too.
“Sarah,” he whispered when we found ourselves alone in the kitchen, “Im so sorry.”
“Dont be,” I lied. “She loves you. Thats all that matters.”
“But I” he started.
“No,” I cut him off. “Please. Dont say it.”
The wedding was torture. Watching them exchange vows, promise forever, while I pretended to be happy for my daughter. That night, I cried harder than I had 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 gentle 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 as the night wound down. “I think we could both use the company.”
Robert understood my grief in a way no one else could. Hed lost someone he loved too, though for different reasons. Our coffees turned into lunches, then dinners, then long talks that lasted until dawn.
We never meant to fall in love. We just wanted to fill the emptiness. But comfort became something deeper, more real than either of us expected.
“This is wrong,” I said one night after our first time together.
“I know,” he murmured, fingers in my hair. “But I cant let you go, Sarah. Youre the only good thing thats happened since I lost my wife.”
For eight months, we kept it secret. We met at his flat, far from prying eyes. It was messy. Risky. But it was ours.
Until tonight. Until this test.
“Mum? Are you okay?” Emilys voice startles me from the other side of the bathroom door.
“Yes, love,” I manage, voice shaky. “Just… not feeling well.”
“Want me to make you some tea?”
“No, go back to bed.”
Her footsteps fade, and Im left alone with my secret. In a few hours, Ill have to call Robert. Ill have to tell him were having a baby. A baby who will be his grandchilds uncle.
How do I explain to Emily that her mother is pregnant with her father-in-law? How do I admit Ive been lying all this time? How do I shatter her happiness with my selfishness?
I stare at my reflection. Red-rimmed eyes, tangled hair. I dont recognise the woman looking back. When did I become the villain of my own story?
My phone buzzes. A message from Robert: “Cant sleep. Thinking of you. I love you.”
I close my eyes and breathe. Tomorrow, everything changes. Tomorrow, Ill have to find the words for the unforgivable.
But tonight, for a few more hours, I can pretend. Pretend Im just a proud mother of a newlywed daughter. Not a woman carrying the worst secret of her life.
I tuck the test into my bedside drawer, alongside all the other lies Ive collected these past months. Tomorrow will come. Tomorrow, Ill have to be brave.
Tonight, I just need to survive.
