Nancy’s life is turned upside down at her husband’s funeral when she encounters an older woman holding a baby. The woman claims the child she is carrying is Nancy’s late husband’s. Is she lying? Or do more shocking revelations await Nancy?
Nancy looked at the final traces of her husband’s funeral service. She couldn’t believe Patrick was gone. He had died in a car accident. It had been a week, but she could still feel him around her. How could he be dead?
With a heavy heart, she headed toward the cemetery’s exit, telling herself she had to start figuring out the rest of her life.
Suddenly, an older woman with a baby blocked her path.
“Are you Nancy?” the woman asked while the baby in her arms cried.
Nancy didn’t recognize her. Who was she?
“I am. Who are you?” Nancy replied.
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Nancy’s heart wasn’t ready when the woman, Amanda, revealed the baby in her arms was Patrick’s child.
“Only you can look after this child now,” she told Nancy. “Her mother can’t provide for her.”
A shiver ran down Nancy’s spine. She stared at the baby and backed away.
“No, it can’t be! Patrick was a loving husband. He would never do this to me!”
Nancy turned around and left. She would never doubt Patrick.
“Watch out!”
Nancy bumped into one of Patrick’s old friends, Mike. She was too lost in her thoughts to notice where she was heading.
Mike started chatting with her, offering his condolences. Nancy didn’t want to talk to anyone, but she had to be courteous. She finished the conversation as soon as she could and headed to her car.
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The baby’s thoughts replayed in her mind, but she dismissed them. However, as Nancy opened her car door, she was shocked. The same baby lay in her back seat, crying.
Nancy looked around. Amanda was nowhere to be seen. “How did this baby even get here?” she wondered.
It was cold, so Nancy removed her jacket and began wrapping it around the little one.
But she froze when she noticed a birthmark on the baby’s neck. “It can’t be,” she muttered to herself.
The birthmark was exactly like Patrick’s. Nancy didn’t want to suspect her late husband of cheating. But now, she needed the truth. She needed to know if Patrick had been unfaithful to her.
Nancy drove home with the baby, took Patrick’s hair strands from his hairbrush, and went to a hospital.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Shutterstock
“Hello, I’d like to get a paternity test done,” she told the receptionist at the counter.
“OK, ma’am. Normally, it takes a few days to get the results,” the woman said.
“Can it be done quicker?” Nancy asked. “I’ll pay extra.”
“Well, we do have expedited service. Let me see what I can do. But it will cost you more.”
“I’ll take it,” Nancy replied. She submitted Patrick’s samples and paid for the test.
Sitting in the hallway, she was awaiting the results when the baby started crying. Nancy sniffed the baby’s clothes. Her diaper didn’t need a change.
Nancy guessed she must have been hungry. There was still time before the results came in, so she drove to a supermarket and bought baby formula, bottles, and a few diapers — just in case she needed them.
She returned to the hallway and sat there, feeding the formula to the baby. After what seemed like an eternity, a nurse approached her with the results.
The woman handed her an envelope and walked away.
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“This is the truth, and I’ll have to accept it whether I like it or not,” Nancy thought as she opened the results.
Her head seemed to spin when she read the words, “Paternity rate – 99%.”
Nancy looked at the sleeping baby in her arms and swallowed the tears in her eyes. Patrick had cheated on her and kept her in the dark.
Nancy decided she would not live with the proof of his infidelity forever. She would find the baby’s mother and give the baby back to her.
Pulling herself together, Nancy drove home and began going through Patrick’s things. But she didn’t find anything that could point her to his lover. She moved to his office next, searching his drawers, files, and cabinets. But nothing.
Nancy sighed. The baby was asleep in the living room. Grabbing the baby monitor, she headed to Patrick’s car. She searched under the seats, in the glove compartment, and in all the nooks and crannies of the vehicle. But she didn’t find anything significant.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Shutterstock
Nancy sank into the driver’s seat when her eyes landed on the GPS. And it was then it hit her. Patrick was terrible at directions and always used the navigator. If he had ever visited his mistress’ house, that is where she would find her address.
Nancy went straight to recent destinations on the navigator. The list wasn’t long, mostly familiar places: local restaurants, the hardware store, and Patrick’s office. But then, one address caught her eye—it appeared more frequently than others, and she didn’t recognize it.
“This is it,” she thought. She took the baby with her and drove to the address.
***
Arriving there, Nancy found herself in front of a modest house. She scooped the baby in her arms, walked to the front door, and knocked.
“Hello? Anyone home?” she asked.
After the tenth knock, when nobody answered the door, Nancy concluded the house was empty. She looked around and decided to approach the neighbors. She started with the house next door and rang the doorbell.
The door opened with a creak, and Nancy’s eyes widened when Amanda stepped out.
“You?” Nancy asked.
“How…how did you find me?” Amanda stuttered.
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“I was trying to find my husband’s…” Nancy paused. “His other woman. I wanted to return her baby.”
A strange sadness flashed across Amanda’s face. “The woman who lived next door… died a few days ago. She had a heart attack when she learned about your husband’s accident. Emma is no more.”
“Wait…did you say Emma?” Nancy asked, shocked.
“Yes,” Amanda nodded. “Did you know her?”
“Was…Was her last name Warren?”
When Amanda nodded, Nancy hung her head in shame. “Can-Can I come inside?” she asked. “There’s something I’d like to tell you. I feel I could use some talk.”
Amanda opened the door wider for her, and Nancy stepped inside. They settled in the living room. “Emma was my classmate,” Nancy began recounting her past. “She was also my friend. But I wronged her and…Patrick…”
20 years ago…
Nancy and Patrick were in their school’s hallway. She was standing next to her locker when Patrick approached her.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Shutterstock
“Hey, Nancy,” he said quietly, and she looked at him.
“I…I need to tell you something,” Patrick added anxiously.
“Hey,” she smiled. “Yes?”
“I…I’m in love with someone else, Nancy,” he confessed. “I know you’ve been really kind and everything, but I’m sorry.”
Nancy was shocked. “Tell me it’s a joke, Patrick,” she cried. “You can’t be serious!”
But Patrick was serious. Patrick was head over heels in love with Emma, and Emma loved him, too.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Shutterstock
Nancy was so distraught that day that she returned home in tears.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Her mother immediately sensed something had happened at school.
Nancy sobbed as she told her how Patrick had broken up with her.
“I want to break them up!” she yelled. “I won’t let them be together!”
“Nancy, you won’t be able to create your own happiness by destroying someone else’s,” her mother advised her. “Revenge is never an option. Forget about him.”
But Nancy was fueled with the desire for revenge.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Shutterstock
In the next few days, Nancy tried everything she could to drive Patrick and Emma apart—she spread silly rumors, planned coincidental run-ins where she’d flaunt newfound confidence, and even stooped to sending anonymous notes, trying to stir up jealousy.
However, nothing worked. Emma seemed happy, wrapped up in her and Patrick’s world and Nancy was left on the outside, her plans crumbling uselessly around her.
But Nancy wasn’t the one to give up. One night, she had the perfect idea to drive a wedge between Emma and Patrick.
“Hello, Nancy, how are you?” Nancy visited Patrick, and the door was answered by this mother.
“I’m fine, Mrs. White. Is Patrick home?”
“Yes, dear. Let me get him.”
Patrick was confused to see her on his doorstep. “Nancy? What’s going on?”
“I know this will come as a shock to you, Patrick, but…I’m-I’m pregnant!” she announced.
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Patrick was shocked and terrified. “What…but…Are you sure?”
When she nodded, Patrick invited her inside. She told him she hadn’t told her parents yet because she was scared. Nancy said her father would definitely be against it and force her to terminate the pregnancy. So she begged Patrick not to tell anyone about it and noticed how easily he succumbed to her lie.
Patrick was a responsible guy. Nancy knew that. He held her hands and said, “I’m the child’s father, so I’ll take the responsibility for our baby. And yes, don’t worry; this will stay between us.”
Present-day…
“I used him. I lied to him. I wasn’t pregnant,” Nancy told Amanda. “I was hurt, and I couldn’t stand losing him to Emma. So I told him a lie that changed everything. He was ready to step up, leave Emma, and be…a father.”
“Lies ruin everything, dear,” Amanda shook her head. “And what after that? Did he never find out the truth?”
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“He didn’t,” Nancy revealed. “I kept up the act, the morning sickness, the whole thing. But after a couple of months, I…I couldn’t carry on with it. So, I told him there was a mistake with the test and that the doctor was wrong. And by then, Emma had…moved. She was heartbroken and had left town with her parents. Patrick and I stayed together. He never went back to her, never tried to find her. We just moved on. Or pretended to…” Nancy added, looking at the sleeping baby in her arms. Now she knew Patrick had returned to Emma.
“And I guess it’s time to correct what I couldn’t back then,” Nancy said and rose to her feet.
She was leaving Amanda’s house with the baby when the older woman stopped her.
“What are you going to do with the baby?” Amanda asked.
Nancy turned around and smiled at Amanda. “I will raise her as my own child. Maybe that’ll help me seek forgiveness from Patrick and Emma.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Shutterstock
And Nancy followed through on her words. She raised baby Catherine with love. When Catherine turned 16, Nancy told her everything about her past. She was expecting Catherine to hate her. And she was prepared for it.
But Catherine smiled and said, “Nothing changes how I feel about you, Mom. You raised me. You were there for every scraped knee, every fever, every heartbreak. You’re my mom in every way that counts.”
Nancy cried silently and hugged her daughter. Catherine’s words had not only relieved her heart, but they’d also made her believe that Emma and Patrick had forgiven her.
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My Husband Refused to Replace Our Broken Vacuum and Said I Should Sweep Since I’m ‘Just on Maternity Leave’ — So I Taught Him a Lesson He’ll Never Forget
When our vacuum broke, my husband said I should just sweep because I’m “home all day anyway.” So I grabbed our newborn and a broken broom and showed up at his office to remind him exactly what that really looks like.
I’m 30. I just had my first baby, a sweet little girl named Lila. She’s 9 weeks old, and yeah—she’s perfect. But also? She’s chaos. She screams like she’s in a horror movie. Hates naps. Hates being put down. Basically lives in my arms.
A fussy baby in his mother’s arms | Source: Pexels
I’m on unpaid maternity leave, which sounds relaxing until you realize it means I’m working a 24/7 shift with no help, no breaks, and no paycheck.
I’m also handling the house. And the laundry. And the meals. And the litter boxes. We have two cats, both of whom shed like it’s their full-time job.
A tired woman sitting on a couch | Source: Pexels
My husband Mason is 34. He works in finance. Used to be sweet. When I was pregnant, he made me tea and rubbed my feet. Now? I’m not sure he sees me. I’m the woman who hands him the baby so he can say “she’s fussy” and give her back five seconds later.
Last week, the vacuum died. Which, in a house with two cats and beige carpet, is like losing oxygen.
A woman vacuuming | Source: Pexels
“Hey,” I told Mason while he was playing Xbox. “The vacuum finally kicked it. I found a decent one on sale. Can you grab it this week?”
He didn’t even look up. Just paused his game and said, “Why? Just use a broom.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “Yeah. My mom didn’t have a vacuum when we were kids. She raised five of us with a broom. You’ve got one. And you’re home all day.”
A man lounging on the couch | Source: Pexels
I stared at him.
“You’re not joking,” I said.
“Nope.” He smirked. “She didn’t complain.”
I let out this weird laugh. Half choking, half dying inside.
“Did your mom also carry a screaming baby around while sweeping with one arm?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Probably. She got it done. Women were tougher back then.”
A man arguing with his wife | Source: Pexels
I took a breath. Tried to keep calm. “You do know the baby’s crawling soon, right? She’s going to have her face in this carpet.”
Another shrug. “The place isn’t that bad.”
I looked around. There were literal cat tumbleweeds in the corner.
“And anyway,” he added, “I don’t have spare money right now. I’m saving for the yacht trip next month. With the guys.”
“You’re saving for what?”
A man turning away from his wife | Source: Pexels
“The boat weekend. I told you. I need the break. I’m the one bringing in income right now. It’s exhausting.”
That’s when I stopped talking. Because what was I going to say?
“You haven’t changed a diaper in days?” “You nap while I pump milk at 3 a.m.?” “You think scrubbing spit-up off a onesie is relaxing?”
I didn’t say any of it. I just nodded.
A sad woman sitting on the couch | Source: Pexels
Apparently, child-rearing is a spa retreat now, and the woman doing it doesn’t deserve a working vacuum. That night, after Lila finally fell asleep on my chest, I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell.
I just sat in the hallway. The light was off, but the dim glow from the nightlight hit the baby monitor just right. It was quiet. Too quiet.
I looked at the broken vacuum. Then I looked at the broom.
A crying woman | Source: Pexels
I got up. Took the broom in both hands. Snapped it clean in half.
The next morning, while Mason was at work, I texted him.
“Busy day at the office?”
“Yeah. Back-to-backs. Why?”
“Oh. No reason. I’m just on my way.”
A woman talking on her phone at home | Source: Pexels
I packed Lila into the car, still red-faced from her morning meltdown. I tossed the broken broom in the back.
And I drove.
I pulled into the parking lot of Mason’s office with Lila screaming in the back like I’d strapped her into a rocket seat instead of a car seat. She’d just blown out her diaper on the drive, and she wasn’t shy about letting me know how she felt about it.
A baby crying | Source: Pexels
Perfect.
I wiped spit-up off my shirt, threw a burp cloth over my shoulder, hoisted the broken broom, and unbuckled the baby.
“Alright, Lila,” I muttered. “Let’s go say hi to Daddy.”
His office building was all glass and steel and fake smiles. I walked in with a red-faced baby in one arm and a jagged broom handle in the other.
A woman holding a baby | Source: Pexels
The receptionist blinked twice when she saw us.
“Can I help—?”
“I’m Mason Carter’s wife,” I said, smiling widely. “He left something important at home.”
“Oh. Um. Sure. He’s in a meeting, but you can go back.”
I walked past her desk like I owned the place.
A kind woman holding a baby | Source: Pexels
Lila started wailing again just as I turned the corner into the conference room. There he was. Mason. Sitting at a long glass table with four coworkers, laughing about something on a spreadsheet like he didn’t have a wife slowly unraveling at home.
He looked up. His face went white.
“Babe—what are you doing here?” he said, standing up fast.
I walked straight in and laid the two snapped broom pieces gently on the table in front of him.
A shocked man | Source: Pexels
“Honey,” I said, shifting Lila on my hip, “I tried using the broom like your mom did with her five kids. But it broke. Again.”
The room went silent. Someone coughed. One guy just stared at his laptop like it was suddenly the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.
I looked around the room and kept going.
A woman cuddling a sleeping baby | Source: Pexels
“So,” I said calmly, “should I keep sweeping the carpet with my hands while holding your daughter? Or are you going to buy a new vacuum?”
Mason looked like he might actually faint. His eyes darted between me, the broom, and his coworkers. His jaw opened and closed like he couldn’t decide which disaster to address first.
“Can we talk outside?” he said, his voice sharp and low, already standing.
“Of course,” I said with a smile.
A tired man looking at the camera | Source: Pexels
He yanked the door closed behind us hard enough that the glass shook.
“What the hell was that?” he hissed. His face was bright red now, all his calm corporate charm gone.
“That was me being resourceful,” I said. “Like your mom.”
“You embarrassed me!” he snapped, glancing over his shoulder toward the conference room. “That was a client pitch. My boss was in there.”
An angry businessman | Source: Pexels
“Oh, sorry,” I said, cocking my head. “I thought you said this was all part of the job. Housewife stuff. What’s the issue? I’m just doing what you said.”
He ran a hand over his face, frustrated. “I get it, okay? I messed up. I’ll get the vacuum today.”
“No need,” I said. “I already ordered one. With your card.”
I turned and walked out, Lila still crying, broom handle still under my arm.
A baby crying in their mother’s arms | Source: Pexels
Mason got home that night quieter than usual. He didn’t toss his shoes in the hallway. Didn’t drop his keys on the counter like usual. Didn’t even glance at the Xbox.
I was on the couch feeding Lila. The living room was dim except for the glow from a floor lamp and the soft hum of the white noise machine in the corner. He sat down across from me, hands folded like he was waiting to be called into the principal’s office.
A serious man sitting down | Source: Pexels
“I talked to HR today,” he said.
I looked up slowly. “HR?”
He nodded, staring at the carpet like it had answers. “Yeah. About our… situation. I said we were going through an adjustment. Stress at home. Lack of sleep. You know.”
I blinked at him. “You mean, you told your job your wife embarrassed you because she’s tired and doesn’t have a vacuum?”
A woman talking to an annoyed man | Source: Pexels
He rubbed his neck. “That’s not what I said. I just… I didn’t mean to be dismissive, okay? I’ve got a lot going on too.”
I let a beat pass. Lila made a soft grunt in her sleep.
I didn’t yell. Didn’t even raise my voice. I just looked at him and said, calm as ever, “Mason, you’re either a husband and a father, or you’re a roommate with a guilt complex. You decide.”
A woman talking to her husband | Source: Pexels
He opened his mouth like he might argue. Then he closed it. Just nodded slowly, lips pressed together like he was swallowing something bitter.
The next morning, the yacht trip got canceled. He said the guys were “rescheduling,” but I didn’t ask questions. Pretty sure “the guys” didn’t even know it was happening.
A man talking on his phone | Source: Pexels
That week, he vacuumed every rug in the house—twice. He looked like he was fighting a war with the dust bunnies. Didn’t say a word about it.
He changed three diapers without being asked. Took the 3 a.m. bottle shift two nights in a row, even when Lila screamed in his face like she knew he was new at it. He paced the hallway with her until she passed out on his shoulder.
A man on his laptop while holding a baby | Source: Pexels
He even took her for a walk Sunday morning so I could nap. Left a sticky note on the bathroom mirror that said, “Sleep. I’ve got her.”
I didn’t gloat. Didn’t say “told you so.” Didn’t bring up the office.
But the broken broom? Still sitting in the hallway, right where I left it. Just in case he forgets.
A wooden broom | Source: Pexels
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