Part 1The Celebration: An Unexpected Son

It was the night of my company’s celebration dinner.

Suddenly, a notification popped up in the family group chat.

An unfamiliar cartoon avatar tagged my husband.

“Dad, can I get some cash? I want to buy a new gaming console.”

I froze.

I checked again. Yes, this was my husband's immediate family chat group.

Mark and I had been married for years. We had one daughter, Eleanor.

Since when did we have another child?

The message was quickly deleted, but I couldn’t just pretend it never happened.

Before I could do anything, my husband called me.

“Hey, can you believe this? One of my distant relatives’ kids tagged the wrong dad!” His voice was light, casual.

I played along, agreeing that kids could be careless.

But as soon as the dinner was over, I headed for the parking garage, already on the phone with a private investigator, asking him to look into the owner of that account.

* * *

The city lights blurred past the car window, but my thoughts were stuck on that single, deleted message.

I’ve always been a suspicious person. My motto is, “Better to be safe than sorry, and never let anything slide.”

On my social media feed, Mark had just posted an update: “Quality time with my girl, helping her with homework.”

It was accompanied by a photo.

In the picture, the living room was brightly lit. Eleanor was staring into the camera, her expression blank.

On a whim, I zoomed in on the photo.

And there, reflected in the dark pools of my daughter’s eyes, was the image of a woman and a young boy.

I had never seen them before in my life.

Two hours later, I pulled up to my in-laws’ house. It was the weekend, and Mark always took Eleanor to visit them.

When I arrived, a strange woman opened the door. The smile on her face froze solid.

Her reaction told me everything. I was right.

She stammered, her words tumbling over each other. “I… I’m Melissa. I’m just here to visit Mr. and Mrs. Collins.”

I didn’t answer. I pushed past her and walked inside.

Mark’s voice floated from the living room. “Melissa, who is it?”

Melissa, of course, didn’t dare to speak.

After a moment of silence, Mark came to see for himself. He saw me standing there, travel-worn and grim, and the air in the hallway instantly became thick and suffocating.

I pushed past him and entered the living room.

My in-laws had been gathered around a little boy. When they saw me, they both shot to their feet. My mother-in-law’s knee hit the coffee table with a loud thud, but she forced a stiff, unnatural smile onto her face.

“Oh, you’re here! Mark said you were busy with work tonight.”

“I finished,” I said flatly.

My gaze fell on my daughter. Eleanor was sitting alone in a corner of the sofa. The moment she saw me, her eyes welled up and she ran into my arms.

“Mommy, you’re finally here.”

I held her close, my heart aching. Eleanor was usually such a stoic child; she rarely showed her emotions like this. What had they put her through while I was gone?

Melissa had positioned herself next to Mark, looking at me with a pitiful, wronged expression. Mark patted her shoulder reassuringly, then turned to me.

“Have you eaten? I can heat something up for you.”

“No, thanks.” I was in no mood to eat.

My mother-in-law shot a look at her husband, tugging on his sleeve. My father-in-law cleared his throat and put on his sternest face to lecture me.

“Look at you, coming in here with a long face, as if we owe you something.”

I suddenly laughed.

My eyes landed on Melissa. She was looking at me, her hands twisting the hem of her dress. She wore light makeup, a simple, conservative dress, and a knitted cardigan—a classic “good wife” look that was the polar opposite of my style.

Mark subtly moved to block my view, reaching for my purse. “Why don’t you go wash up? I’ll get you a glass of warm milk.”

I didn’t move. I just looked down at my daughter, who was still clinging to my waist, refusing to let go.

Her eyes were red and puffy. She whispered, “Mommy, I want to go home.”

“What’s wrong? Did someone bully you?” I stroked her hair, my heart twisting with pain.

“I… I don’t like Leo,” she mumbled into my side.

At the mention of his name, the little boy who had been engrossed in his video game looked up.

That one glance sent a chill down my spine.

The resemblance was uncanny. His eyes, his brow—he looked just like Mark.

“This child…” My voice was calm, as if I still knew nothing. “He looks like a strong little guy.”

The boy looked to be about seven or eight. His narrow eyes stared straight at me, and then he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Daddy, who is this lady? What is she doing in our house?”