…”we already have one. Her name is Poppy. She’s one.”
I pulled over into a gas station parking lot. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My husband, Ryan, sat in the passenger seat staring straight ahead.
The woman on the phone was still talking. “Hello? Ryan? Can you hear me?” I recognized her voice now. Kelsey. Our nanny. The college student who’d watched our kids for two summers, until she “moved away for school” eighteen months ago.
I hung up the call. Then I turned around in my seat and looked at my children.
“Sweethearts,” I said, as calmly as I could. “You’re not in trouble. Nobody’s in trouble. Can you tell me about the camping trip?”
It came out in pieces. There was no camping trip. Their dad had driven them six hours to a little rental house in Michigan, where Kelsey was waiting with a baby. He told them she was “a friend who needed help.” He told them the baby was “kind of like a cousin.” And he made them pinky-promise not to tell me, because “it would make Mommy sad, and we don’t want Mommy sad, right?”
My son, Ben, who’s seven, had been having nightmares for a year. I’d taken him to the pediatrician twice. Now I knew why.
Ryan finally spoke. “Let me explain.”
“You made our children keep your secret,” I said. “For a year. That’s all I need explained.”
I drove us home. I asked Ryan to pack a bag. He did.
The next week, I found a family therapist who specializes in kids. In our first session, Ben told her that he’d been scared every single night that he’d accidentally tell me. That he’d thought it would be his fault if Mommy got sad. I had to step out into the hallway.
I filed for divorce in October. My lawyer was very direct with the judge about Ryan using our children to hide his affair. The court ordered him to complete a co-parenting program and limited his overnight visits until he did.
Kelsey called me a few weeks later. She was crying. She said Ryan had told her we were separated. She said she’d been twenty and stupid and in love, and she’d never wanted the kids to keep secrets. She asked if the kids could still know Poppy someday, and the new baby, when it came. Because they’re siblings.
I didn’t answer right away. I thought about it for a long time. Then I said yes. Not now. But someday. The children didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did those babies.
Ben’s nightmares stopped about two months after Ryan moved out. Last week, at bedtime, he asked me if he was allowed to have secrets now.
“Good secrets,” I said. “Like surprise presents. Not the kind that make your tummy hurt.”
He thought about it and said, “Okay. Then I have a good one. I’m making you a card for Mother’s Day.” He grinned. “Oops.”
