I thought our first Christmas as a family would be perfect until my husband didn’t come home. Hours later, when a woman answered his phone, my world shattered. Was Harold living a double life, or was there more to the story?

The house smelled like Christmas. The turkey was resting on the counter, golden brown and perfect.

A woman setting the table | Source: Pexels

Mashed potatoes, green beans, and stuffing were ready to go. Harold’s favorite apple pie sat on the cooling rack, filling the air with a sweet cinnamon scent. I smiled as I looked around. Everything was just right.

The table was set with the red-and-gold placemats we’d picked out together last year. I even used the good silverware, the ones we’d been saving for special occasions. This was special — our first Christmas as a family of three.

A set table | Source: Pexels

I peeked into Denise’s room. She was snuggled in her crib, her little chest rising and falling with each soft breath. “Merry Christmas, sweet girl,” I whispered, brushing a curl from her forehead.

The clock said 6:00 p.m. Harold had promised he’d be home early. “I’ll be there by five,” he’d said that morning, kissing me goodbye. I wasn’t worried yet. He was probably stuck at work or caught in traffic.

Still, I couldn’t help but think about how distracted he’d been lately. At dinner, he’d barely talked. Sometimes, I’d catch him staring at his phone with a look I couldn’t read. I told myself it was just work stress. He’d been swamped at the office for weeks.

“He’ll be here,” I said out loud, more to myself than anyone else.

By 6:30 p.m., I sent him a quick text: “Hey, everything’s ready. Can’t wait to see you. Drive safe!”

No reply.

By 7:00 p.m., I was checking my phone every two minutes. The food was getting cold. Denise would wake up soon, and I didn’t want to spend the evening feeding her alone.

I called him.

No answer.

“Okay,” I muttered. “He’s probably driving. Maybe his phone’s in his pocket.”

I busied myself with reheating the green beans and straightening the already-perfect table. I tried to ignore the knot forming in my stomach. By 7:30 p.m., I’d called three more times. No answer.

A nervous woman looking at her phone | Source: Midjourney

“Harold,” I whispered, pacing the kitchen. “Where are you?”

Memories of that awful fight we had last year crept into my mind. It was the only time I’d doubted him. I’d found a text from his ex on his phone — not flirty, but friendly enough to make me wonder. He’d explained it, apologized, and promised it wouldn’t happen again. And I’d believed him.

Now, my thoughts raced. Was he lying back then? Was something else going on?

At 8:00 p.m., I called him again. Still nothing.

By the tenth call, my hands were shaking. My mind was filled with worst-case scenarios. What if he was in an accident? What if he wasn’t coming home at all?

On the fifteenth try, someone finally picked up.

“Hello?” I said, my voice cracking.

A woman’s voice answered, calm and matter-of-fact. “He can’t talk right now. He’s with his wife in the delivery room. She’s having their baby.”

For a second, I thought I misheard her.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “What?”

“He’s with his wife,” she repeated. “She’s in labor. He’s helping her through it.”

The line went dead.

My phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor. My legs felt like they might give out, and my mind raced.

His wife? Their baby?

What was she talking about?

I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt tight. I stumbled into the living room and sank onto the couch. The lights on the tree blurred as tears filled my eyes.

Was this some kind of mistake? A cruel joke? Or was it the truth?

I stared at the phone on the floor, willing it to ring again. My heart pounded in my ears.

I didn’t know what to believe.

I sat in Denise’s room, rocking her in the dim light from the small lamp on the dresser. She stirred in her sleep, her tiny hand curling around the edge of her blanket.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered, brushing a tear from my cheek. “This isn’t how tonight was supposed to be.”

The weight in my chest was crushing. Christmas Eve, our first as a family, was ruined. Harold was gone, and I didn’t even know why. My heart ached as I looked at Denise’s peaceful face. I felt like I was failing her, letting my panic and hurt take over.

I kissed her forehead and laid her back in the crib. “I’ll figure this out,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.

Back in the living room, the silence was unbearable. I turned on the TV for background noise but couldn’t focus on the screen. My mind replayed the call over and over. “He’s with his wife, helping her through childbirth.”

His wife.