For three years, my neighbor Nelly had kept to herself, rarely leaving her house, and no one had ever seen her child. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, especially after Nelly had been pregnant when she moved in. One evening, as I watched her through the window, I caught a glimpse of a little boy with a birthmark I recognized—one that matched my husband Evan’s. My heart stopped.
I confided in my husband, Evan, about my concerns, but he dismissed them. Then, Mrs. Freddie, another neighbor, took it upon herself to investigate. She tried to visit Nelly with a pie, but was met with hostility. Suspicious, I once again found myself at Nelly’s door, and when I peeked through her window, I saw the boy—Tommy.
In a panic, I collapsed on the steps, and when I regained my composure, I confronted Nelly. She admitted that Tommy was Evan’s son, born out of an affair four years ago. Evan had promised to support her and the child in secret, even moving her next door to keep an eye on her. Tommy thought Evan was just a friend, and Nelly had kept him hidden all these years.
I confronted Evan when he returned from a business trip, divorce papers in hand. Nelly arrived with Tommy, and Evan’s face drained of color. “I can explain,” he said, but I had no interest in hearing it. The betrayal was too much.
The divorce was quick, and Evan’s parents gave me half their company to make amends. Nelly and Tommy moved away, and though part of me felt sorry for them, I focused on healing.
As I watched my sons play in the yard, I realized I couldn’t change the past, but I could shape the future. I promised to raise them to be better men than their father.