My Dad Arrived Late One Night With News About My Mom — I Didn’t See It Coming

I wasn’t only astonished when Dad showed up at my house at 11 p.m. with a packed bag and announced that he was divorcing my mother.

However, as the evening went on, I came to understand that his odd conduct suggested something much more sinister than marital issues.

Lately, life had been quite ideal.

I was beaming when I was seven months pregnant with our first child. That’s what my husband, Peter, insisted on telling me, anyway. I felt fortunate despite having swollen ankles and strange food desires.

The spare bedroom had been turned into a comfortable nursery by Peter and myself, complete with soft yellow walls and a mobile of tiny stars that glistened in the wind. He would apply cocoa butter to my expanding tummy every night while we discussed potential baby names.

“How about Emma for a girl?” With his soft hands gently circling my stretched flesh, Peter proposed one evening.

“Too common,” was my response. “What about Olivia?”

“Your cousin already used that,” he said, laughing. “We’ll figure it out.”

My parents were just as thrilled to have grandchildren. Dad kept emailing links to educational items that were “scientifically proven to boost infant brain development,” while Mom had already made three baby blankets.

They have 37 years of marriage. They may have quarreled over things like mom’s infatuation with moving furniture or dad’s snoring, but divorce? Unimaginable.

Divorce was therefore the last thing on my mind that Tuesday night when the hammering began on our front door.

It was about eleven o’clock.

While Peter was upstairs brushing his teeth, I was already in my jammies, rubbing cocoa butter over my stomach. As though someone were in danger, the knocking seemed urgent.

Heart pounding, I waddled to the door as fast as my swollen bulk would allow. My father’s face was strangely shaded in the porch light when I looked through the peephole.

“Dad?” I opened the door. “What are you doing here so late?”

Without saying anything, he moved passed me while holding an overnight bag. In strange spots, his gray hair sprang up.

“Is everything okay?” As I followed him into our living room, I inquired. “Is Mom alright?”

Dad gazed at his hands as he slipped onto our couch. There was a long pause before I cautiously slid myself onto the armchair across from him.

He murmured, “I’m divorcing your mother,” at last. “I just… I can’t be in that house anymore.”

“What? Hold on. You’re divorcing your mother? 37 years later?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He avoided looking into my eyes and massaged his face. “All I need is some room. Tomorrow, I’m heading to the lake house.

“The lake house?” I made a stupid repetition. We had spent summers fishing and building s’mores in that little cabin. where my folks annually commemorated their anniversaries.

I begged, “Dad, talk to me,” “What took place? Did the two of you fight?

He gave a headshake. “Haley, it’s complicated. More than you realize.

Peter, still holding his toothbrush, emerged in the doorway. When he saw my father, his eyes grew wide.

“Richard? Is everything alright?

Dad gave a rigid nod. “All I wanted was somewhere to crash tonight. I hope that’s okay.

“Of course,” replied Peter. “The guest room is all made up.”

“Thanks.” The couch springs creaked as Dad stood up. “I’ve been beaten. In the morning, we may discuss this further.

Peter turned to face me as he vanished down the corridor. “What was that about?”

Whispering, “He says he’s divorcing Mom,”

Peter’s brows lifted. “Really? Your folks?”

I shook my head, “I know,” I murmured. “There’s a problem. He isn’t himself.

I got out of the chair with Peter’s assistance. “We should go to bed. Most likely, he’s just upset. In the morning, everything will make more sense.

I nodded, but that night I fell asleep in fits.

I woke up at two in the morning because I had to go to the restroom. A shadow shifted in the corridor as I trudged back to my bed.

A little sliver of light spilled over the carpet from the open nursery door. I opened it more widely.

My father was standing in the center of the room, searching the closet.

“Dad?” My voice broke.

Like a teenager caught breaking curfew, he leaped. The faint light made his face become pale.

He stumbled, “Oh… I couldn’t find the guest room,” with little conviction. “Thought this was it.”

I pointed to the changing table, the crib, and the six plush animals. “The room with the baby mobile and diapers?”

He smiled sheepishly. “The brain must be infectious during pregnancy. I’m sorry to wake you.

I heard the door to the guest room click shut as he slipped past me and into the corridor.

A shiver went down my spine as I stood in the doorway of the nursery, my palm covering my belly for protection. There was obviously a problem. Whatever was going on with my father was more than a marital argument.

At two in the morning, what was he searching for in my baby’s room?

I pulled myself out of bed at 7 a.m., feeling like I had been struck by a truck, when my alarm went off. I went downstairs to make the coffee because Peter was already in the shower.

The door to the guest room was ajar. My father had gone, and the bed was made.

There was a handwritten message on the kitchen counter.

“I visited the lake home. Avoid making a call. I require room.

As I gazed at the recognizable handwriting, a knot formed in my stomach. I awaited Peter’s departure for his job.

Then I broke. I gave my mother a call.

On the second ring, she answered, “Hey sweetheart,” sounding entirely natural. “How’s my grandbaby today?”

I inhaled deeply. “Mom, Dad showed up at my house last night.”

“What? Was Richard at your house? Her voice was tinged with confusion. “He told me he had a late meeting and was staying at the office.”

My heart fell. “He told me he was divorcing you, Mom. He has since left for the lake house.

For a few seconds, there was silence along the line.

My mother then screamed.

“What? The lake house? That location was sold a year ago.

“What?” I spoke without thinking.

And “the property taxes got too high,” she added. “Last March, we shut down. He is unable to attend. Unless—” Her voice cracked. “Unless he’s with her.”

“What ‘her’?” I insisted.

Mom said, “There’s this woman,” in a whisper. “I’ve seen Facebook messages. I believed I was being overly suspicious, but recently…”

I said, “Mom, slow down,” as I tried to think. “You think Dad’s having an affair?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” Now she was crying. However, I’m on my way to pick you up. We’ll investigate the situation.”

We ended the call.

Twenty minutes later, she showed up with tears streaming down her cheeks but a determined expression. I picked up my bag and walked to her car, pregnant or not.

I required clarification.

“Do you know where he might be?” As she backed away from my house, I questioned.

Mom gave a sad nod. “I have a pretty good idea.”

We arrived to an unknown residence on the outskirts of town, a charming small bungalow with blue shutters and a well-kept lawn. In the driveway, my mom saw Dad’s silver Volvo right away.

Mom whispered, “That’s her place,” “Lauren. She is employed in his division.

A mixture of fury and disappointment made my stomach turn. How could he harm Mom in this way? To our household? Having a baby soon?

“Let’s go,” I replied, shakily unbuckling my seatbelt.

Together, we approached the door. Even with the curtains pulled, I could hear voices within that were muffled.

Mom didn’t knock. She quickly entered after twisting the unlocked doorknob.

I went along with it. I froze after that.

Because that wasn’t a scandalous embrace between two lovers. Streamers were present instead. balloons. Confetti. An enormous poster with the words “Baby Detective Arriving Soon!”

“SURPRISE!” At once, dozens of voices yelled.

My mouth fell open. There were several familiar faces in the tiny living area. My roommate from college. My cousins. My high school best friend. Even my OB-GYN was smiling as she stood in the corner.

My father was standing in the middle of it all, next to a pink-and-blue cake.

I had to clutch the doorframe because my knees were wobbling. “What—what is happening right now?”

Dad moved forward. Detective stories have always captivated you. ever since you were a young child. Why not make your baby shower a true mystery, we reasoned?

He continued, “I was the red herring,” with pride.

Mom shifted next to him, blotting her eyes dry with laughter. “I knew about it from the start. However, your father went awry and added unnecessary drama with this divorce farce.

Dad handed me a gift-wrapped copy of “Goodnight Sherlock” and stated, “The purpose of the nursery snooping was to see if you had detective books for the baby yet.”

Lauren, the woman whose house it was, came forward. I work as your dad’s helper. No Facebook messages, no affair. You know all of their pals, so it’s just a cover location.”

Totally overwhelmed, I collapsed into a nearby chair while friends showered me with gifts and hugs.

My dad laughed and said, “You should have seen your face!” “Oscar-worthy, right?”

I gave a headshake. “I almost had a heart attack because of you! “And your poor pregnant daughter!”

Mom pressed, “Worth it for the best mystery-themed baby shower ever,” and squeezed my shoulder.

With the evidence markers next to the finger foods, the “case file” gift bags, and the “Tiny Investigator” onesie, I had to concede that the room’s decorations were flawless.

The biggest mystery, I realized as Peter (the traitor, who had been in on it too) came, was how my family had managed to surprise someone who had grown up reading every Nancy Drew book ever published.

And the amount of affection that might be contained in a tiny space.

Being surrounded by individuals who genuinely love me makes me feel incredibly thankful.