For three years, my neighbor, Nelly, lived behind closed doors with a child no one had ever seen. One day, I glimpsed the boy through her window—and realized the truth.
Nelly had moved in while heavily pregnant, yet no one had ever seen her baby. Despite trying to talk to her, she always kept her distance, and the absence of the child struck me as odd.
One evening, I shared my concerns with my husband, Evan, but he dismissed them. Still, my unease grew. One day, Mrs. Freddie tried to offer Nelly a pie, but Nelly slammed the door on her. “Something’s off,” Mrs. Freddie said, and I couldn’t shake the feeling.
Then, one day, I found a letter meant for Nelly. When I peered through her window, I froze. The child inside had a birthmark that was unmistakably the same as Evan’s. My heart stopped.
The truth was horrifying. Nelly confessed that Evan was the father, a result of a brief affair four years ago. He’d convinced her to keep the child a secret, even moving her next door to keep an eye on her.
Confronting Evan with the truth was devastating. As he fumbled for excuses, Nelly appeared with the child, Tommy. The betrayal shattered me. Divorce papers were already ready.
Evan’s parents, shocked by his actions, gave me part of their company as compensation. I accepted, securing my boys’ future. Nelly and Tommy moved away, and while part of me felt sorry for them, the bigger part was determined to rebuild.
After the chaos, I hugged my sons tightly and made them promise to always be honest and kind. It was a painful chapter, but I was determined to raise them right.
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