I don’t know if he did it on purpose, but it sure felt intentional. We were out in Bar Harbor with my parents for the weekend. They’ve always been… polite to Dariel.
Never outright rude, but you can feel that weird tension sometimes. My dad tries too hard, over-laughs at his jokes. My mom avoids saying his name like it’s a trigger word.
Still, I figured things were fine enough. We’d been married almost a year, and this was the first time they invited us on a little trip. Progress, right?
Anyway, we were on a trail overlooking the water, and my mom wanted to snap a photo of us. I stood next to Dariel, just smiling like usual. But right before the camera clicked, he slid his hand around my waist and rested it gently—very deliberately—on my stomach.
Not low like a casual hold. Not high like a hug. Dead center.
Right over my belly. My mom lowered the phone. My dad blinked.
No one said a word, and I just stood there frozen, wondering if they noticed. I mean, of course they noticed. You’d have to be blind not to.
I glanced at Dariel, but he just kept smiling like nothing happened. Thing is… we hadn’t told anyone yet. Not even close.
I wasn’t even sure we were going to tell them anytime soon. Later that night, my mom pulled me aside at the inn. She didn’t ask directly, just stared at me with that smile she uses when she’s pretending not to be upset.
And Dariel? He was already acting like the secret’s out. I don’t know if he did it to force the conversation… or to see how they’d react.
But what he doesn’t know is what my mom said to me after that photo. When my mom cornered me in the hallway outside our rooms, the air felt thick. She pretended to smooth out the lace runner on the table in the corridor, but I could see she wasn’t even looking at it.
Her eyes kept darting back up to my face. “What’s going on?” she asked softly. And in that moment, I felt like I was sixteen again, sneaking out past curfew, trying not to get caught.
Except this wasn’t about curfew—this was about the possibility that I was pregnant. I swallowed and tried to brush it off. “Nothing, Mom.
He’s just… Dariel can be affectionate.”
She breathed out a tight laugh, the kind that sounds more stressed than amused. “He can be affectionate, but that wasn’t normal affection. I’ve been around a while, sweetheart.
You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to open my mouth and confess everything—to explain that Dariel and I only recently found out, that I was still terrified, that I wasn’t ready for all the questions and the comments, especially from her and Dad. But I just couldn’t.
Something caught in my throat, like an invisible barrier holding in every secret I’d never said out loud. She forced a smile. “Well, if there’s something you need to tell us… we’re here.”
I nodded, managing a weak smile of my own, but I could feel tears building.
She reached out and patted my arm gently, and I thought maybe—just maybe—she was trying to show some warmth. Then she let out a sigh that sounded almost defeated, like she didn’t know how else to handle me. My parents went to bed early that night, and Dariel and I were left by ourselves in the small lobby lounge of the inn.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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