Nancy stood still, barely noticing the crispness of the autumn breeze. Her eyes rested on the freshly turned mound of earth, but they remained dry—her tears had long since drained away, leaving behind a hollow emptiness. Patrick was gone. Even after a week, her mind couldn’t accept the cruel finality that had crept into her life. People had said things like “It was a car accident,” or “He went instantly.” To her, they were nothing more than hollow sounds, meaningless words meant to comfort her with the illusion that he didn’t suffer.
She thought about the little things—the silly TV shows they used to binge on slow weekends, the playful notes Patrick would leave on the counter, the warm grip of his hand around hers. Each memory tugged at her heart, deepening the ache inside her. How can he be gone, just like that? she wondered, though her silent question was swallowed by the stillness of the air.
All around her were traces of the farewell. A few folding chairs off to the side, half-wilted flowers left behind, and the faint outlines of footsteps pressed into the grass. People had come to grieve, to say goodbye, to remember. Then, one by one, they returned to their lives. Because that’s what people do. Life goes on.
But how could hers? Her life had always been a “we.” Without Patrick, it had become a lonely “me.”
Nancy shivered and pulled her coat tightly around her. She tried to shake the thoughts away. It was time to leave. Time to figure out how to survive this. One breath at a time, she reminded herself. You get through it one breath at a time.
Just as she turned to go, an elderly woman stepped in her path. She held a small, crying baby, and her face showed the deep exhaustion of someone carrying years of burdens.
“Are you Nancy?” the woman asked, her voice almost drowned out by the infant’s cries.
“Yes. Who’s asking?” Nancy replied warily, her tone showing how worn down she felt.
“My name is Amanda,” the woman said softly. She gestured to the child nestled against her chest. “This baby belongs to Patrick.”
Nancy’s heart skipped a beat. “What? No—no, that’s not possible,” she replied sharply, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “Patrick was loyal. He wouldn’t have…”
Amanda sighed deeply, her eyes glimmering with truths too heavy to speak. “I know it’s hard to believe. But it’s the truth. The baby’s mother can’t care for her anymore.”
“You’re lying,” Nancy snapped, her grief quickly morphing into anger. “Why should I believe a word of this?”
“Because this child has no one else,” Amanda said gently. “And whether you want to or not, you may be her only hope.”
Nancy felt dizzy with disbelief. “I can’t deal with this—not now. I don’t even know you!”
“I understand,” Amanda said with sadness in her voice. “But sometimes life doesn’t wait for us to be ready.”
Unable to process what she was hearing, Nancy turned and walked away as quickly as her shaking legs would let her. Her breath was short, her thoughts tangled. But deep inside, she knew this moment wasn’t over. Something had been set in motion, something she couldn’t ignore.
Still dazed, she nearly collided with someone else as she left the graveyard.
“Oh! Mike,” she said, recognizing her late husband’s coworker. “I didn’t see you.”
Mike’s face was solemn. “Hey, Nancy,” he replied gently. They exchanged a few words—weather, small talk, nothing important. But for Nancy, it was a small, welcome distraction.
“Keep in touch, okay?” he said as they parted. “If you need anything…”
“I will,” Nancy answered with a weak smile. She continued to her car, her feet heavy, her chest tight with the emotional weight of the day.
As she reached for her keys, the click of the car door unlocking echoed too loudly in the quiet cemetery. But when she opened the door, her breath caught in her throat.
There, in the back seat, was the baby.
The same child Amanda had held. Alone.
Her heart pounded as the infant’s cries filled the car again. “What the—how… how did you get here?” Nancy whispered, eyes wide. She looked around, but Amanda was nowhere in sight. It made no sense. Had the door been unlocked? Was she being watched?
Her mind reeled. Was this child abandoned? Was it a trap? Should she call the police?
But even as she considered it, instinct took over. The baby was cold. Shivering. Without thinking, Nancy pulled off her sweater and gently wrapped it around the child. She’d never held a baby before, but her hands moved gently, protectively.
And then she saw it.
Just below the baby’s ear—a tiny, familiar birthmark. Her blood ran cold. She knew that mark. Patrick had one just like it.
Her breath caught in her throat. Could Amanda have been telling the truth? It was too surreal, like a scene out of a twisted movie. Could Patrick have had a child with another woman?
She needed proof.
A DNA test.
Her hands trembling, she remembered Patrick’s old hairbrush in the bathroom. If she could gather a few strands, it would be enough.
Driven by a mix of dread and determination, Nancy secured the baby in the car seat and headed home. Her thoughts spun in every direction. I’m not ready for this. I’m not a mother. But if this child was Patrick’s… what then?
Back at home, she raced to the bathroom, retrieved the hairbrush, and felt a wave of grief as she saw his belongings—tangible reminders of a man who now seemed like a stranger.
Cradling the baby in one arm and clutching the hair samples in the other, she rushed to the lab. Everything felt surreal, like she was floating outside of herself.
At the front desk, she barely managed to say, “I need a paternity test.”
“It usually takes a few days,” the administrator replied calmly.
Nancy’s voice cracked with urgency. “Can you rush it? I’ll pay extra.”
The woman eyed her carefully, saw the desperation in her face, and nodded. “We do have an expedited service. Results in a few hours.”
“I’ll take it,” Nancy said without hesitation, handing over her card.
While she waited, she rocked the baby gently, trying to soothe her as her own nerves frayed. The wait was agonizing. She left briefly to buy some formula, diapers, and bottles, a surreal shopping trip that felt like a dream.
Two hours later, the administrator returned. “The results are ready,” she said, handing Nancy a sealed envelope.
With trembling hands, Nancy opened it.
Paternity: 99.9%.
She couldn’t breathe. The truth hit her like a punch to the gut. It was real. Patrick had fathered this child. He had betrayed her, lived a secret life. Everything she thought she knew had shattered.
But when she looked at the baby, her anger softened. This tiny girl wasn’t to blame. She was just an innocent life, left adrift.
Nancy remembered Amanda’s words: Her mother can’t care for her.
Her grief was now tangled with obligation, confusion, and a surprising tenderness. But there was something she needed to do—something that required answers. She had to find the mother. She had to know the full story.
Nancy packed the baby’s things and swaddled her tightly. Her eyes were determined. Patrick had secrets. I’m going to uncover them.
Back home, with the baby sleeping, Nancy searched. She began in their bedroom, rifling through his clothes, pockets, and drawers. Nothing. Just gum wrappers and receipts. Then she moved to his office—opened files, leafed through books, searched for a clue. Again, nothing.
Frustrated, she tried his car.
Still nothing—until she remembered one crucial thing.
The GPS.
She turned the key in the ignition. The screen lit up. With trembling fingers, she opened the “Recent Destinations” menu. The list was short—and mostly familiar.
Except for one address.
One she didn’t recognize.
Nancy stared at it, her pulse quickening. Maybe this is where I’ll find the truth.