I never anticipated discovering a positive pregnancy test inside a parcel intended for my dad. And I certainly didn’t expect an affectionate note attached, signed off with a playful “sweetheart.” Could my father be unfaithful to my mother? Was he secretly expecting a child with another woman?
I had always seen my parents as the perfect couple. They chuckled at the same corny jokes, swayed together in the kitchen when they assumed no one was watching, and constantly reassured me of their deep love for each other.
But now? Now, I wasn’t sure what to think.
At eighteen, I had left home, eager to embrace my independence in the city.
My apartment was minuscule, barely accommodating me, a worn-out couch, and a cramped kitchen that could hardly fit two people. Yet, it was my space, and I took pride in it.
Between my job and school, my schedule was packed, leaving little room for visits back home. We stayed in contact, of course, but I hadn’t physically seen my parents in months.
So when my phone vibrated that afternoon, displaying my dad’s name, I smiled and answered right away.
“Hey, stranger,” I joked.
“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted warmly. “Guess what? I’ll be in the city tomorrow for work.”
“What? No way!” I jumped up from my couch. “That’s awesome! Where are you staying?”
“Just a hotel downtown. Only for a couple of nights.”
“Well, there’s no way I’m missing this. I’m definitely coming to see you.”
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I ended the call, thrilled beyond words.
My father and I had always shared a special bond. He was the one who taught me to drive, never missed a single one of my school performances, and made the fluffiest pancakes every Saturday morning.
I couldn’t wait to see him.
The following afternoon, I arrived at his hotel, practically bouncing through the lobby. As soon as he opened the door, I flung myself into his arms.
“Dad!” I squealed.
“Hey, kiddo,” he laughed, wrapping me in a firm hug. “Wow, you look fantastic.”
“So do you,” I said, stepping back to take in his familiar face. He hadn’t changed much, though there was more gray in his hair, and it was slightly longer than the last time we met.
His smile, though? That was exactly the same.
We sat together in his hotel room, chatting as if no time had passed.
He asked about my studies, my job, and whether I was eating properly.
I, in turn, asked about Mom, the house, and our dog, Buster. Everything felt normal, comforting.
Until there was a knock at the door.
Dad was in the bathroom when I heard it.
“Can you get that for me?” he called out. “Must be a delivery.”
I got up and opened the door to find a courier holding a small cardboard box. I signed for it and glanced at the label.
“You want me to open it?” I asked.
“Go ahead, probably something work-related.”
Peeling away the tape, I expected paperwork or maybe a replacement part for one of his gadgets.
Instead, what I found completely blindsided me.
A positive pregnancy test.
Alongside it, a printed note read: Congratulations, sweetheart! See you at Café *** at 7 p.m.
My mind reeled as I gawked at the note, then at the test.
This couldn’t be real. It had to be some kind of mistake.
I reread the note, desperate to make sense of it.
Was my father involved with another woman? The man who had always seemed so devoted to my mother—was he betraying her? And now, was there a baby on the way?
Nausea surged in my stomach. My hands trembled as I hastily stuffed everything back into the box, sealing it shut.
Only one thought consumed me: my mother. She deserved to know. But was it my place to tell her?
Before I could figure it out, my father stepped out of the bathroom, yanking me back to reality.
“What was it?” he asked, drying his hands with a towel.
I swallowed hard, forcing an indifferent expression. “Uh… just a package. Didn’t open it.”
He nodded, taking it from me without a second glance.
But I wasn’t about to let this go.
I needed answers. I needed to see who my father was meeting.
That evening, I slipped on my jacket and made my way to the café listed in the note. My heart pounded as I took a quiet seat in the corner.
Scanning the room, I searched for the woman who had sent that message.
Was it her? I wondered, eyeing a blonde woman sitting alone. She looked to be in her forties.
But just as quickly, my suspicion faded when a man joined her at the table.
Then, my eyes landed on a familiar figure entering through the door.
My dad.
He arrived precisely at 7 p.m.
He wasn’t sneaky or cautious like someone hiding a secret. No. He walked in confidently, standing tall, casually surveying the café.
And then, I saw it.
A bouquet of roses in his hands.
My fists clenched beneath the table, my pulse hammering. Flowers? Really? Was he about to present them to his pregnant lover?
I tried to steady my breathing, but the anticipation was suffocating.
Minutes dragged by. The tension in my chest thickened.
Then, the door chimed as someone else entered.
I held my breath, watching as a woman stepped inside.
I recognized her instantly.
She was the last person I expected.
My mother.
I blinked rapidly, convinced my eyes were deceiving me. But no, it was truly her. She stood in the entrance, scanning the café until her gaze met my father’s.
A soft gasp escaped her lips, her hands covering her mouth.
What was happening?
My father’s face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. Within moments, he had crossed the room, pulling her into his embrace.
They laughed. Kissed. Spoke in hushed, excited tones, entirely oblivious to their shocked daughter watching from a distance.
Then, as my mother pulled back, my dad bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to her stomach.
My jaw nearly hit the table.
That’s when I saw it.
The barely noticeable swell beneath my mother’s dress.
She was expecting.
With shaking fingers, I instinctively grabbed my phone and started recording.
All day, I had believed my father was unfaithful. And now, I realized he was simply an overjoyed, deeply-in-love husband.
That night, I sat in my apartment, watching the video over and over, overwhelmed with relief.
For two decades, my parents had been together, yet they still looked at each other like love-struck teenagers. I had spent hours agonizing over the worst scenario, only to learn how terribly wrong I had been.
And now, they were expecting another child.
I let out a breathless laugh. “Unbelievable.”
For so long, it had just been the three of us. Me, their only child, their whole world.
Now, at forty-two, my mother was beginning again. I could hardly process it.
But watching my father kiss her stomach in that video, seeing the unfiltered joy on their faces, I knew one thing.
This was a story we’d be telling for years to come.
