Emily was just finishing dinner when the phone buzzedher husband, Oliver, would be home in an hour. Their ten-year-old daughter, Sophie, was still at ballet, twirling through her routines.
Soon, Sophie would burst through the door, toss her bag aside, and chatter endlessly about her friends, her triumphs, her strict instructor. Emily smiled. Listening to her daughters stories was always the highlight of her day.
Thenthe doorbell. Too early for Oliver, and he had his own keys. Sophie must have forgotten hers again. Emily swung the door open, but instead of her daughter, a young woman stood there, chin raised, lips pursed.
Lets not drag this out. Im your husbands mistress. Weve been seeing each other for years. Yesspare me the wide-eyed shock.
Years? How many?
Three. It suited me fineliving alone, having a man who comes and goes. No laundry, no cooking, no cleaning up after him. And Im not changing a thing.
Emilys stomach twisted. She remembered the struggle to conceive, the doctors quiet wordsOlivers issue, not hers. IVF had been their only hope. The first round failed, but the second brought Sophie, their little miracle. And nowthis news.
Youre not changing anything? So, hell just be a father who drops in?
No. Hell be *my* husband, and the child will be *mine*. Hell visit, and the baby will visit me. Thats all.
Emily nearly laughed. And how, exactly, do you picture that? He raises the child, then pops round so it can say hello to its mother?
Precisely. I never wanted a child. This was an accident.
Oliver told me he couldnt father children.
Well, clearly, he can! I just wanted to see where my child would grow up. Seems fair.
Emilys voice turned to ice. Youre not even invited in, love. I dont know your name, but your man doesnt live here anymore. Take his things and go.
She moved to shut the doorbut there stood Sophie, ballet shoes in hand, eyes wide.
Mum, whats going on? Whose baby? And Dads not my real dad?
Emily sighed. You heard all that? Alright. Its time you knew.
Sophie squared her shoulders. Im not a little kid anymore. I can handle it.
So Emily told her everything.
So, Im yours but Dads not really Dad. And now hes having *another* baby with *her*? And I wont be its sister?
Well yes. Thats right.
Sophies jaw set. Im old enough. Ill help you. Let him go.
Right on schedule, Oliver walked in.
Wheres my welcome? No hug?
Usually, Sophie would rush to him. Tonight, silence. She stayed in her room.
Emily, wheres Sophie? Late at ballet?
Your mistress came by. Shes pregnant. *Yours*. Care to explain?
Oliver paled. Emily, its my child. I cant just abandon it.
And you know what shes proposing?
I do. She didnt plan this, butwe have Sophie. Now therell be another. Itll live with me.
Oh, *will* it? Remember your diagnosis?
Miracles happen!
Emilys laugh was sharp. Brilliant. Off you go, thentake your miracle to its mother. Pack your things later.
Emily, no! They dont want me there. Not like *that*.
They dont want you here, either. Go.
What about Sophie? Im her fatherlegally, at least! Whats wrong with my *real* child living with us?
Your mistress already gave me her version of fair. Find out if its *yours* first. Goodbye.
The divorce was swift. The flat belonged to Emilys parentstheyd built a house but never transferred the deed. Not that it mattered in court.
Oliver had nowhere to go. The part-time lover preferred her freedomno nappies, no midnight feeds. When the baby came, she sued for child supportand lost. No one knew how she managed afterward.
Olivers diagnosis hadnt changed. The paternity test came back negative. One legal daughterwho refused to speak to him. He paid support, begged for reconciliation. Emily shut the door.
Turns out, sitting on two chairs with one backside isnt as easy as it seems.
What do you think? Drop your thoughts below.
