For Two Years, My Husband Came Home Past Midnight — The Baby at Our Gate Was Only the Beginning
For the past two years, my husband Daniel had gone out every night, saying he was singing karaoke with his “office friends,” never coming home before midnight.
I talked.
I cried.
I begged.
He always gave the same answer.
“It’s business, Maya. If I don’t go, I lose clients.”
But that night, when I saw him quietly step onto the balcony, phone in hand, laughing softly with someone…
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I rushed over and grabbed his phone.
He pulled back.
In a burst of rage, I slammed it onto the tiled floor.
It shattered.
Daniel’s face darkened.
“You’ll regret this,” he said coldly.
I thought it was just an empty threat.
Three days later, my life collapsed.
THE BABY AT THE GATE
At 6 a.m., I opened the gate to take out the trash.
I froze.
A newborn baby girl lay inside a basket, wrapped neatly in a clean blanket.
Beside her was a handwritten note:
“She looks just like you. Please take care of her.”
My legs nearly gave out.
Daniel ran out behind me, his face turning pale.
“What is this? Put it away, Maya. This isn’t funny.”
I screamed back:
“She looks like YOU—then YOU tell me whose baby this is!”
But Daniel didn’t deny it.
He didn’t argue.
He just stood there—
trembling, staring at the baby as if he were staring at death itself.
That scared me more than any confession.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” I shouted. “Whose child is this?!”
Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulders, his hands shaking.
“Go inside,” he begged.
“Close the gate. Don’t touch the baby.”
His voice wasn’t defensive.
It was terrified.
THE CCTV FOOTAGE
I rushed inside and pulled up the gate camera footage.
There was no one bringing the baby.
No adult figure.
No motorcycle.
No footsteps.
Only the baby’s shadow—
appearing at the edge of the frame at 5:13 a.m., as if it had crawled out of pure darkness.
My skin prickled.
Daniel collapsed onto a chair.
“It found us…” he whispered.
“WHO is it?” I screamed.
THE SECRET AT THE KARAOKE BAR
Only then did Daniel finally speak.
“I didn’t cheat on you,” he said hoarsely.
“But I did hide something… else.”
Three months earlier, at the karaoke bar he often visited, there was a young woman working there—always carrying a baby.
Every night, she stood in the hallway, watching him sing, tears streaming down her face.
One night, he asked why.
She told him:
Her baby girl was born prematurely at seven months and died during a hospital transfer.
But ever since then, she kept seeing the baby every night—
on the stairs,
in the bathroom mirror,
sitting alone on a chair after the bar closed.
She begged Daniel every night:
“Please sing one song for her.
She only listens to you. No one else.”
Daniel thought it was superstition.
Until he checked the bar’s security cameras.
Each time he held the microphone, a small shadow stood beside the woman.
Then one night, Daniel stopped going to the bar.
The woman disappeared.
People said she had been admitted to a mental hospital.
THE FINAL TWIST
My hands trembled as I looked at the baby in the basket.
“You mean… this isn’t a real child?” I whispered.
Daniel pointed to the note.
“Read it again.”
I picked it up.
The handwriting was shaky.
The paper damp.
In the morning sunlight, the ink blurred—
It wasn’t ink.
It was stains of tears.
A new line slowly became visible, as if written after the note was already placed there:
“Mom is gone. I found my dad.
But I don’t want to stay here for long…”
The paper slipped from my hands.
My heart pounded wildly.
The baby in the basket was no longer lying still.
She opened her eyes.
They were deep black—
no whites at all.
Daniel stumbled backward, his voice breaking.
“She didn’t come to find her father…
She came to take back the one who sings her last song.”
Before I could scream—
The baby sat up, standing straight inside the basket, without using her hands.
Her mouth stretched unnaturally wide—
all the way to her ears.