At my husband’s funeral, I caught sight of this strange old lady holding a tiny baby. Weird, right? I’d never seen her before in my life! Everyone had left, but she was still there.
I went up to her and asked, “Who were you to my husband?” Her answer knocked me for a loop: “To him, I’m nobody! But it’s about who I’ve got here. This is his child! He can’t be with his mother anymore. You’re the only one who can raise him! Please!”
Can you believe it?! I was furious, told her to leave. My husband was perfect; he’d never che@t. I lingered by the grave a little longer, then
walked to my car. And then, I heard something behind me. I turned around, and, oh my God!
Nattalie stood there, the chill of the autumn air barely registering. Her eyes were dry, the tears having given way to a deep, empty void as she stared at the fresh mound of earth. Petron was gone. It had been a week, but her mind still refused to accept the cruel reality that had barged into her life uninvited. “A car crash,” they’d said, “instantaneous.” Words intended to comfort, to imply he felt no pain, but they were just hollow syllables to her.
She remembered the little things – the way Petron used to leave playful, love-you notes in the kitchen, the warmth of his hand enveloping hers, the silly TV shows they’d binged on lazy weekends. Memories, sharp and poignant, tugged at the corners of her heart, making it all the more unbearable. “How can he just not be here anymore?” she murmured to herself, the soft sound swallowed by the surrounding silence.
Glancing around, she noticed the final traces of the funeral service. A few wilting flowers missed by the clean-up crew, chairs stacked away in the corner, lingering footsteps in the grass – all remnants of a final goodbye. People had come, paid their respects, shared memories of a man they all missed. But one by one, they’d all left, returning to their lives. Life goes on, as they say.
But how could hers? With Petron, she’d been part of a ‘we’, but now, it was just ‘me’.
Nattalie shook her head, as if to clear it of these thoughts. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, feeling suddenly cold. It was time to leave, to somehow start figuring out the rest of her life. One breath at a time, she reminded herself, that’s how you get through this.
As Nattalie was about to leave the cemetery, her path was blocked by an older woman clutching a crying baby. The woman looked desperate, worn out from whatever life had thrown at her.
“Are you Nattalie?” the woman asked, barely audible over the baby’s cries.
“I am. Who’s asking?” Nattalie responded, her patience wearing thin, the emotional exhau$tion evident in her tone.
“My name is Amantha. This baby,” she gestured to the child in her arms, whose cries were now waning into soft whimpers, “is Petron’s.”
Nattalie’s heart skipped a beat. “What? That’s impossible,” she retorted quickly, almost reflexively, her eyes narrowing. “Petron was a good man. A loving husband. He wouldn’t…”
Amantha sighed, a sound heavy with a thousand untold stories. “I know it’s hard to take in. But it’s the truth. This child’s mother can’t provide for her.”
“You’re lying,” Nattalie snapped, anger bubbling up inside her, mingling with the surreal nature of the conversation. “Why should I believe any of this?”
Amantha’s face softened, “Because this innocent child needs someone, Nattalie. You’re her only hope now.”
Feeling overwhelmed, Nattalie shook her head. “This…this is too much. I don’t even know you. I can’t deal with this. Not today… not now,” she stammered, backing away.
“I understand,” Amantha replied, her voice a mixture of sympathy and something akin to regret. “But life doesn’t give us the things we’re ready for; it gives us things we need to be ready for.”
Nattalie, unable to handle the situation’s gravity, turned away. She walked faster than her trembling legs wanted to carry her, trying to put distance between herself and Amantha’s unsettling revelation.
As she left, there was a sinking feeling in her st0mach, an unshakable chill that told her this encounter wasn’t the end. Little did she know, the baby was a lingering shadow, a piece of Petron she couldn’t just wish away. Her life had intertwined with the child’s, whether she was ready or not, setting the stage for a future she couldn’t predict.
Nattalie, her mind a mess from the cemetery confrontation, almost bumped into someone. “Oh, Miller! I didn’t see you there,” she exclaimed, recognizing an old work buddy of Petron’s.
“Hey, Nattalie,” Miller greeted her with a somber face, obviously mindful of the funeral service that had just taken place. They fell into a sort of awkward catch-up, the kind you have when life’s put you through the wringer. They talked about everything and nothing – weather’s shiftiness lately, some town gossip, trivial stuff, really. It was a welcome, if not slightly forced, distraction for Nattalie.
“Keep in touch, alright? If you need anything…” Miller’s voice trailed off, the typical offer of assistance people make when they don’t know what else to say.
“I will. Thanks, Miller,” Nattalie replied, giving a weak smile. They parted ways, and she kept thinking, ‘What a day, huh?’ Her feet felt like lead on the way to her car, the emotional toll weighing heavily.
Reaching the car, Nattalie fished for her keys, her thoughts miles away. The click of the unlocking door sounded unusually loud in the quiet. She reached for the handle, and the door opened to reveal a scene that made her heart stop for a moment.
There, in her back seat, was the baby, the very same child that Amantha had held in her arms. But Amantha was nowhere to be seen. The baby’s cries filled the car interior, jolting Nattalie back to reality.
“What the… How did you get in here?” she muttered, her heart racing. Her mind couldn’t process how this was even possible. Was the door unlocked? A second wave of confusion h!t her – where was Amantha?
Nattalie’s mind raced. This was an abduction, wasn’t it? Should she call the cops? But then, what would she say? That someone left a baby in her car at a funeral? No, that sounded insane.
Taking a deep breath, trying to calm the chaos in her head, Nattalie realized the baby needed comfort, at least for now. Whatever the next steps were, they could wait a minute.
The baby’s cries were piercing, making Nattalie’s heart race in panic. “Okay, little one,” Nattalie whispered, more to herself than the baby. Not knowing the first thing about kids, she did what her instincts told her. It was getting chilly, and all she thought was, ‘Babies shouldn’t be cold, right?’ So, she took off her sweater, a bit hesitant at first, and carefully wrapped it around the little one. The baby’s skin felt cool, and Nattalie hoped her sweater would bring some warmth and comfort.
As she was doing so, Nattalie’s hands froze when she spotted something on the baby’s neck. It was a small, distinct birthmark that looked eerily familiar. She leaned in closer, her heart skipping a beat. It couldn’t be. The birthmark was almost identical to Petron’s, just below his ear, something she’d always found endearing about him.
This revelation h!t her like a freight train. ‘Was Amantha telling the truth?’ The thought was terr!fying and confusing. Nattalie felt as if she were in a twisted movie plot, except this was real life, and she was the star. Her husband, the one person she thought she knew, suddenly felt like a stranger. ‘Could Petron really have had a child with another woman?’ The pain and betrayal, mixed with the sh0ck, were overwhelming.
But Nattalie knew she couldn’t just rely on a birthmark. She needed undeniable proof. ‘A DNA test,’ she thought suddenly, her mind racing through the next steps. Petron had a hairbrush he used, and it still sat untouched in their bathroom. If she could get some hairs from that, it should be enough for a paternity test.
With newfound determination, she secured the baby in the car seat, her mind going a mile a minute. She drove home, trying to focus on the road while her thoughts were a chaotic mess. ‘I’m not a mom,’ she kept thinking. ‘I’m not ready for this.’ But then, what if the baby really was Petron’s? What does that mean for her?
Reaching home, Nattalie rushed to the bathroom, grabbing the comb. Seeing Petron’s belongings, a pang of grief h!t her, muddling her resolve. She shook her head, telling herself she needed to know the truth, no matter how heart-wrenching it might be.
Nattalie’s heart was pounding as she walked into the lab, the baby cradled in one arm and Petron’s hair samples clutched in her hand. Everything felt surreal, like she was watching herself from the outside. The lab was sterile and quiet, a sharp contrast to the storm raging in her mind.
At the reception, she cleared her throat. “Hi, I need a paternity test,” she blurted to the administrator, a woman in a plain, wh!te coat who looked up from her computer, surprised by Nattalie’s abruptness.
“Okay, ma’am. Normally, it takes a few days to get the results,” the administrator began in a monotone voice, her speech sounding rehearsed.
Nattalie’s impatience surged. “Can’t it be done quicker? I’ll pay extra,” she insisted, her voice desperate. She couldn’t stand the thought of waiting days. The uncertainty was eating her alive.
The administrator raised her eyebrows, assessing Nattalie’s frazzled, determined look. “Well, we do have an expedited service. It’s not standard because it costs more, but we can have the results in a few hours.”
“I’ll take it,” Nattalie responded immediately, digging into her purse and placing her credit card on the counter. Money was the last thing on her mind; all she wanted was the truth.
The administrator nodded, her expression softening, likely sensing the turmoil Nattalie was in. She took the card and the samples, instructing Nattalie on where to wait.
Nattalie found a seat in a corner of the waiting area. The baby, sensing perhaps her anxiety, began to fuss. Nattalie did her best to soothe her, gently rocking her and whispering soft words.
With the hair safely tucked in a small bag, she headed back to the car, taking a deep breath. The next step was going to define her whole life, and she had to be ready for whatever the truth might reveal.
Nattalie sat in the hallway of the lab, the sterile environment making the wait seem even longer and more agonizing. The baby, unaware of the high-stakes situation unfolding around her, fussed and squirmed in her makeshift cradle made out of Nattalie’s sweater.
Having anticipated the long wait, Nattalie had stopped by a store to pick up some baby formula, bottles, and a few diapers. She had never imagined herself in this situation, yet here she was, feeding a baby that might be her husband’s.
As the minutes ticked by, her mind raced with conflicting emotions. She felt a surge of affection every time the baby gripped her finger tightly. Despite the confusing circumstances, this innocent child was growing on her. But alongside that affection, Nattalie felt the sting of betrayal. How could Petron have kept this a secret?
Two hours felt like a lifetime with all these thoughts swirling in her head. When the administrator finally appeared around the corner, Nattalie’s heart skipped a beat. “The results are ready,” the administrator said, a neutral tone in her voice, extending a sealed envelope to Nattalie.
With trembling hands, Nattalie took it. This piece of paper held the truth, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to face. She tore the envelope open, and her eyes quickly scanned the contents. “Paternity rate – 99.9%.” The words blurred as they h!t her like a physical blow.
Her worst fear confirmed. Nattalie felt her world crumbling down. The realization that Petron had indeed led a double life, that he had been unfaithful, was overwhelming. She had been living a lie. And yet, staring at the innocent face of the baby, she couldn’t find it in her heart to blame this tiny being.
A memory flashed in her mind, Amantha’s words about the baby’s mother being unable to care for her. The weight of the situation settled on Nattalie’s shoulders. This child, her husband’s child, was practically an orphan. She knew what she had to do next. She needed to find this woman, the mother, and confront her.
With newfound determination, Nattalie packed up the baby supplies, securing the little one in her arms. The path forward was unclear, filled with emotional landmines, but she owed it to herself and this baby to get to the bottom of Petron’s secret life.