My heart was hammering against my ribs as I stood outside the bedroom door. I had come home early to surprise them, but instead, I was the one paralyzed by what I was hearing.
Husband: “Buddy, just promise you’ll never tell your mom about what you saw, alright?” Son: “Okay, daddy. But why is it a secret? I don’t like secrets.” Husband: “It’s not a secret. Just forget it, or else mom might be sad. You don’t want that, right?”
I forced a smile onto my face and pushed the door open. “Honey! Mike! What are you two talking about?” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady.
My husband, Mark, jumped a little, but quickly recovered. “Nothing, just boys talk,” he replied, flashing that charming smile I fell in love with ten years ago.
Dinner was agonizing. Mark acted perfectly normal, asking about my day, while Mike sat quietly, pushing his peas around his plate, refusing to make eye contact with me. I knew my son. He was a terrible liar, and the guilt was eating him alive.
I waited until Mark went into the garage to work on his “projects” for the evening. I walked into the living room where Mike was watching cartoons.
I sat down on the floor next to him and pulled out a pint of chocolate ice cream—his favorite.
“Mikey,” I whispered, handing him a spoon. “I know Daddy told you to keep a secret.”
Mike’s eyes went wide. “I promised.”
“I know,” I said gently. “But Daddy just doesn’t want to spoil a surprise. Is it a surprise party? Or maybe a puppy?”
Mike shook his head violently. “No, Mommy. It’s not a puppy.”
“Then what is it, baby? If you tell me, I promise I won’t be sad. But if you don’t tell me, I’m going to be worried all night.”
Mike looked at the garage door, then back at me. The ice cream was too tempting. He took a bite, then whispered the words that ended my life as I knew it.
“I saw Daddy wrestling,” Mike said innocently.
“Wrestling?” I asked, confused. “With who?”
“With Auntie Lisa,” Mike said.
My blood ran cold. Lisa was my sister. She had been staying with us for a week while her apartment was being painted.
“Where were they wrestling, Mike?”
“In the laundry room,” he said. “Daddy was pushing her against the washing machine. And they were kissing. Like… really kissing. And Daddy told her he loved her more than anyone.”
I sat there on the living room rug, the carton of melting ice cream in my hand, listening to the hum of the TV and the sound of my husband whistling in the garage, realizing that the “sadness” he was trying to protect me from wasn’t a surprise—it was the truth that was about to destroy us all.
