We recently moved to a new city because of my husband’s new job. Our 8-year-old daughter, Lily, was telling us about her first day at her new school. I asked her about her new teacher and my kid said, “She’s so cool, and daddy has a picture of her in his wallet.”
Hearing that, my husband choked on his tea and slammed the cup down, coughing into his sleeve.
I blinked. “Wait, what?” I asked, trying to laugh it off. “What do you mean Daddy has her picture?”
Lily looked confused, like we were the ones acting weird.
“Yeah! I saw it when he gave me money for the book fair. Her picture is in that clear part of the wallet!”
I turned slowly to look at him.
His face was pale. He gave this forced chuckle like it was no big deal. “Oh, she probably saw an old photo from college or something.
Could be someone who looks like her,” he said. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. That night, while he was in the shower, I went through his wallet.
There, behind his driver’s license, was a photo of a young woman—smiling, hair in a ponytail, tank top. Not me. Not a relative.
Definitely not a college buddy. I took a picture of it with my phone, quietly put it back, and waited. The next morning, I walked Lily to school and asked to meet her teacher, Ms.
Naira, just to “put a face to the name.”
When I saw her, my stomach dropped. It was her. Same smile.
Same eyes. Just older, more polished. She seemed friendly enough.
Warm even. “You must be Lily’s mom! She’s a delight.”
I nodded, smiled, and made small talk, but my mind was reeling.
Back home, I waited for him to return from work. I didn’t even give him time to set his keys down. “Why do you have Lily’s teacher’s photo in your wallet?”
He froze like I’d tasered him.
“It’s not what you think,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I can explain.”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter. “Try.”
He took a deep breath.
“Naira and I… we dated. Years ago. Before I met you.”
Okay.
I mean, people have exes. That’s not the crime. “But why is her photo still in your wallet?”
“She gave me that photo the summer we broke up.
I don’t know, I just never threw it out.”
He paused, seeing my face twist. “I forgot it was even there. Seriously.”
He was either a terrible liar or a clueless hoarder.
But I wasn’t done. “Did you know she taught at Lily’s school when we moved here?”
“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
I couldn’t tell if I was losing my mind or just finally seeing what had been under my nose. Over the next few days, I paid attention. He got oddly cheerful every time Lily mentioned school.
He started volunteering to drop her off. I played it cool. Let him think I was buying it.
One afternoon, I told him I had a dentist appointment and asked him to pick Lily up. I actually had no appointment. I waited down the street and watched from the car.
He parked. Got out. And I watched Ms.
Naira walk out with Lily, all smiles. My husband leaned in, too close. She laughed.
He laughed. And then he put his hand on her arm. Lily climbed into the backseat and Naira turned to walk back into the building, but not before she glanced at him in this way—like they’d just shared a private joke.
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