I started to believe that maybe, just maybe, we could heal. But on the third day, everything shattered again. I was lost in thought on a bench when Luke sprinted toward me, his voice full of urgency.
“Daddy! Daddy!”
I smiled, assuming he wanted more ice cream. But then—
“Dad, look!
Mom’s back!” he exclaimed, pointing toward the beach. My stomach twisted. I turned and froze.
A woman stood a short distance away, her back to us. Same height. Same build.
Chestnut hair blowing in the breeze. “No, buddy,” I whispered, trying to steady myself. “That’s not—”
Then she turned.
My heart nearly stopped. It was Stacey. Luke tugged at me.
“Daddy, why does Mommy look different?” His little voice was filled with innocent confusion. I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t even breathe.
Stacey’s eyes locked on mine—then widened in shock. She grabbed the arm of a man standing beside her, and together they quickly disappeared into the crowd. “Mommy!” Luke cried, trying to run to her.
I scooped him into my arms. “We have to go, buddy.”
“But Daddy, it’s Mom! Why didn’t she come say hi?”
Back in the hotel room, I paced in disbelief.
I had buried her. Hadn’t I? Yet I knew what I saw.
That was Stacey. That night, I called her mother. “Tell me exactly what happened,” I demanded.
“We’ve been through this, Abraham,” she said. “Then say it again.”
“The accident was in the morning. By the time we reached the hospital… it was too late.”
“And why didn’t I see her body?”
“It was… too damaged.
We thought it best—”
“You thought WRONG,” I snapped and hung up. My gut screamed something was off, and I was determined to uncover the truth. The next morning, I placed Luke with his nanny at the kids’ club, telling him a white lie about a “surprise” later.
Then I spent the entire day searching—the beach, the shops, the restaurants. Nothing. By sunset, I felt defeated, convinced I’d lost my mind.
Then I heard it. A voice behind me. “I knew you’d come looking for me.”
I turned.
Stacey stood there—alone. She looked the same but colder, harder. “How?” I whispered.
“It’s complicated,” she muttered. “Then make it simple. Tell me,” I said, slipping my phone into my pocket to record.
“I never wanted you to find out this way. I’m pregnant.”
The air left my lungs. “It’s not yours,” she admitted, staring at the ground.
Slowly, the truth spilled out. The affair. The pregnancy.
The plan to vanish. “My parents helped me,” she confessed. “We knew you’d be away.
It was the perfect chance.”
“Perfect?” I nearly shouted. “Do you know what you’ve done to Luke? To me?”
Tears streamed down her face.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t face you. This way, everyone could move on.”
“Move on?
I thought you were DEAD! Do you know what it’s like telling your little boy his mom is never coming home?”
“Abraham, please—”
“No!” My voice shook with rage. “You lied.
You cheated. You let us grieve you while you played house with someone else.”
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, glancing nervously around. “You don’t get to control anything anymore,” I said sharply.
“Not after this.”
Then, a small voice cut through the tension. “Mommy?”
We both froze. Luke stood there, wide-eyed, clutching the nanny’s hand.
“Luke, honey—” Stacey whispered, stepping forward. I pulled him close, my arms tightening around him. “Don’t you dare speak to him,” I warned.
The nanny looked panicked. “Sir, I’m so sorry. He ran ahead when he saw you.”
“It’s fine, Sarah.
We’re leaving.”
Luke cried in my arms, pleading, “Daddy, please! I want to go to Mommy! Mommy, don’t leave me!”
But I carried him away, ignoring the knife his words drove into my chest.
Back in the room, as I packed our things, Luke asked softly, “Why are you crying, Daddy? Why can’t we see Mommy?”
Kneeling down, I held his small hands, my heart breaking. “Buddy, your mom did something very wrong.
She lied to us.”
His lip quivered. “She doesn’t love us anymore?”
The question shattered me. Pulling him into my arms, I whispered through tears, “I love you enough for both of us.
You’ll always have me. Always.”
In the weeks that followed, lawyers got involved. Custody papers.
Agreements. Stacey didn’t fight me—she signed everything, probably out of guilt. Full custody went to me.
She was barred from discussing the scheme publicly, and what money she had left became alimony. Two months later, Luke and I moved to a new city. Fresh start.
New house. New routines. He still asked about her sometimes, still had nightmares, but little by little, he was healing.
We both were. Then, one evening, a text popped up on my phone. “Please, let me explain.
I miss Luke so much. I feel so lost. My boyfriend left me.
😔🙏🏻”
I stared at it for a long moment before deleting it. Some bridges, once torched, can never be rebuilt. That night, as the sun dipped below the horizon, I hugged Luke tightly.
“I love you, buddy,” I whispered. He looked up at me, eyes shining with trust. “I love you too, Daddy.”
And in that moment, I knew the truth: we were going to be okay.
The road wouldn’t be easy, but as long as we had each other, we would always find our way forward.
