When Dad appeared on my doorstep at 11 p.m. with a packed bag, telling me he was divorcing my mom, I was more than just shocked. But as the night unfolded, I realized his strange behavior hinted at something far more disturbing than just marital problems.
Life had been pretty perfect lately.
At seven months pregnant with our first baby, I was glowing. At least that’s what Peter, my husband, kept telling me. Even with swollen ankles and bizarre food cravings, I felt blessed.
Peter and I had transformed the spare bedroom into a cozy nursery with soft yellow walls and a mobile of tiny stars that twinkled in the breeze. Every evening, he’d rub cocoa butter on my growing belly while we debated baby names.
“How about Emma for a girl?” Peter suggested one night, his warm hands making gentle circles on my stretched skin.
“Too common,” I replied. “What about Olivia?”
“Your cousin already used that,” he reminded me with a chuckle. “We’ll figure it out.”
My parents were equally excited about becoming grandparents. Mom had already knitted three baby blankets, and Dad kept sending links to educational toys that were “scientifically proven to boost infant brain development.”
They’d been married for 37 years. Sure, they bickered about dad’s snoring or mom’s obsession with rearranging furniture, but divorce? Unthinkable.
That’s why when the pounding started on our front door that Tuesday night, divorce was the last thing on my mind.
It was nearly 11 p.m.
I was already in my pajamas, smoothing cocoa butter over my belly while Peter brushed his teeth upstairs. The knocking was urgent, as if someone was in trouble.
I waddled to the door as quickly as my pregnant body allowed, heart racing. Through the peephole, I saw my father’s face, oddly shadowed in the porch light.
“Dad?” I swung the door open. “What are you doing here so late?”
He stepped past me without a word, clutching an overnight bag. His silver hair stuck up in odd places.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, following him into our living room. “Is Mom alright?”
Dad sank onto our couch and stared at his hands. The silence stretched until I lowered myself carefully into the armchair across from him.
“I’m divorcing your mother,” he finally muttered. “I just… I can’t be in that house anymore.”
“Wait, what? You and Mom are getting divorced? After 37 years?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” He rubbed his face, avoiding my eyes. “I just need some space. I’m going to the lake house tomorrow.”
“The lake house?” I repeated dumbly. The small cabin where we’d spent summers fishing and making s’mores. Where my parents celebrated their anniversaries every year.
“Dad, talk to me,” I pleaded. “What happened? Did you two have a fight?”
He shook his head. “It’s complicated, Hailey. More than you know.”
Peter appeared in the doorway, toothbrush still in hand. His eyes widened at the sight of my father.
“Richard? Everything okay?”
Dad nodded stiffly. “Just needed a place to crash tonight. Hope that’s alright.”
“Of course,” Peter said. “The guest room is all made up.”
“Thanks.” Dad stood, the couch springs creaking. “I’m beat. We can talk more in the morning.”
After he disappeared down the hallway, Peter turned to me. “What was that about?”
“He says he’s divorcing Mom,” I whispered.
Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? Your parents?”
“I know,” I said, shaking my head. “Something’s wrong. He’s not himself.”
Peter helped me up from the chair. “Let’s get some sleep. He’s probably just upset. Things will make more sense in the morning.”
I nodded, but sleep came in fitful bursts that night.
Around 2 a.m., I woke needing to use the bathroom. As I waddled back to bed, a shadow moved in the hallway.
The nursery door was ajar, a thin slice of light spilling onto the carpet. I pushed it open wider.
And there was my father, standing in the middle of the room, rifling through the closet.
“Dad?” My voice cracked.
He jumped like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew. His face paled in the dim light.
“Oh… I couldn’t find the guest room,” he stammered unconvincingly. “Thought this was it.”
I gestured around at the crib, changing table, and the half-dozen stuffed animals. “The room with the baby mobile and diapers?”
He gave a sheepish smile. “Pregnancy brain must be contagious. Sorry to wake you.”
He slipped past me into the hallway, and I heard the guest room door click shut.
I stood in the nursery doorway, my hand protectively covering my belly, as a chill ran down my spine. Something was definitely off. Whatever was happening with my father went beyond a simple marital spat.
What was he looking for in my baby’s room at 2 a.m.?
When my alarm went off at 7 a.m., I dragged myself out of bed feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. Peter was already in the shower, so I made my way downstairs to start the coffee.
The guest room door stood open. The bed was made, and my father was gone.
On the kitchen counter sat a handwritten note.
“I’ve gone to the lake house. Don’t call. I need space.”
I stared at the familiar handwriting, feeling a knot form in my stomach. I waited until Peter left for work.
Then I broke. I called my mom.
“Hey sweetheart,” she answered on the second ring, sounding perfectly normal. “How’s my grandbaby today?”
I took a deep breath. “Mom, Dad showed up at my house last night.”
“What? Richard was at your place?” Confusion colored her voice. “He told me he had a late meeting and was staying at the office.”
My heart sank. “Mom, he… he told me he’s divorcing you. And now he’s gone to the lake house.”
Silence stretched across the line for several seconds.
Then my mom screamed.
“WHAT?! The lake house?! We sold that place a YEAR ago!”
“What?” I blurted out.
“The property taxes got too high,” she continued. “We closed in March last year. He can’t be there. Unless—” Her voice broke. “Unless he’s with her.”
“What ‘her’?” I demanded.
“There’s this woman,” Mom’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve seen messages on Facebook. I thought I was being paranoid, but lately…”
“Mom, slow down,” I said, trying to process. “You think Dad’s having an affair?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore!” She was crying now. “But I’m coming to get you. We’re going to find out what’s going on.”
We hung up.
She arrived 20 minutes later, face streaked with tears but determination in her eyes. Pregnant or not, I grabbed my purse and waddled to her car.
I needed answers.
“Do you know where he might be?” I asked as she pulled away from my house.
Mom nodded grimly. “I have a pretty good idea.”
***
We pulled up to an unfamiliar house at the edge of town, a cute little bungalow with blue shutters and a well-tended garden. My mom spotted Dad’s silver Volvo in the driveway immediately.
“That’s her place,” Mom whispered. “Lauren. She works in his department.”
My stomach churned with a mix of disappointment and anger. How could he do this to Mom? To our family? With a baby on the way?
“Let’s go,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt with shaking hands.
We walked up to the door together. The curtains were drawn, but I could hear muffled voices inside.
Mom didn’t knock. She twisted the unlocked doorknob and burst in.
I followed… and then I froze.
Because inside weren’t two lovers caught in a scandalous embrace. Instead, there were streamers. Balloons. Confetti. A huge banner that read, “Baby Detective Arriving Soon!”
“SURPRISE!” Dozens of voices shouted at once.
My jaw dropped. The small living room was packed with familiar faces. My college roommate. My cousins. My best friend from high school. Even my OB-GYN stood in the corner, grinning.
And at the center of it all stood my father, beside a pink-and-blue cake.
My knees wobbled, and I had to grab the doorframe. “What—what is happening right now?”
Dad stepped forward. “You’ve always loved detective stories. Since you were a little girl. So, we thought, why not make your baby shower a real mystery?”
“I was the red herring,” he added proudly.
Mom moved beside him, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “I was in on it from the beginning. But then your father decided to go rogue and add extra drama with this divorce nonsense.”
“The nursery snooping was to check if you had detective books for the baby yet,” Dad explained, handing me a gift-wrapped copy of “Goodnight Sherlock.”
The woman whose house it was, Lauren, stepped forward. “I’m your dad’s assistant. No affair, no Facebook messages. Just a cover location since you know all their friends.”
I sank into a nearby chair, completely overwhelmed, as friends surrounded me with hugs and gifts.
“You should have seen your face!” my dad chuckled. “Oscar-worthy, right?”
I shook my head. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! And your poor pregnant daughter!”
“Worth it for the best mystery-themed baby shower ever,” Mom insisted, squeezing my shoulder.
Looking around the room at the decorations, including the evidence markers beside the finger foods, “case file” gift bags, and a onesie that read, “Tiny Investigator”, I had to admit it was perfect.
As Peter arrived (he’d been in on it too, the traitor), I realized the greatest mystery was how my family had managed to surprise someone who’d grown up devouring every Nancy Drew book ever written.
And how much love could fit into one small room.
I’m super grateful to be surrounded by people who love me so much.
