My mother-in-lawm. Each time she stepped out, I heard strange voices outside. When I finally saw what it was, I couldn’t move.
When I told Josh I wanted a home birth, his face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. But his mother, Elizabeth, was even more excited. You would have thought we had just given her the keys to a shiny new car.
Oh, Nancy! This is such great news!” Elizabeth exclaimed, putting her hands together. “I have to be there to support you both. I can help with anything you need!”
I looked at Josh, raising my eyebrows. His shrug told me he was leaving the decision up to me.
I don’t know, Elizabeth,” I replied, sounding unsure. “It’s going to be really intense.”
She waved my worries away. “Nonsense! I’ve been through this myself. I know exactly what you’ll need.”
I bit my lip, thinking it over. Maybe having an extra pair of hands wouldn’t be so bad, right? It would also mean a lot to Josh if I invited his mother to help with our home birth.
“Okay,” I finally agreed. “You can be there.”
Elizabeth squealed with delight, her excitement so loud it could have scared the neighborhood dogs.
The big day finally came. Our midwife, Rosie, was setting up her things when Elizabeth rushed in, her arms full of bags.
“You won’t regret this, Nancy,” she said, hugging me tightly. “I promise to be the best support you could ask for.”
“I’m here!” she announced, as if we could have missed her entrance. “What do you need me to do?”
I was about to respond when a contraction hit, taking my breath away. Josh was instantly by my side, his hand on my lower back as I tensed and groaned.
“Just… put your things down for now,” I managed to say.
As the contraction passed, I noticed Elizabeth fidgeting, her eyes darting around the room. She seemed more nervous than excited, and I felt that something was off.
“Are you okay?” I asked, frowning.
She turned, startled. “What? Oh, yes! Just thinking about how I can help. You’re doing great, honey. Just keep pushing.”
Before I could ask her anything else, she rushed out the door, mumbling something about getting me some water.
Josh squeezed my hand. “Want me to talk to her?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. She’s probably just nervous. It’s our first baby, right?”
As my labor went on, Elizabeth’s behavior became stranger. She would pop in, ask how I was doing, then leave again. Each time she returned, she seemed more flustered.
During a strong contraction, I held Josh’s hand so tightly I thought I might break it. As the pain faded, I heard a weird sound.
“Josh,” I panted, “do you hear that?”
He tilted his head to listen. “Sounds like… voices?”
I nodded, relieved I wasn’t imagining it. “And is that music?”
Josh frowned, kissed my forehead, and said, “I’ll check it out. I’ll be right back.”
As he left, Rosie smiled at me. “You’re doing great, Nancy. Not long now.”
When Josh came back, he looked pale, like he had seen a ghost.
“What is it?” I asked, dreading his answer.
He ran his hand through his hair, looking upset. “You’re not going to believe this. My mother is throwing a party. In our living room.”
I stared at him, thinking I must have misheard. “A what?”
“A party,” he repeated, frustration in his voice. “There are at least a dozen people out there.”
The pain of labor was nothing compared to the anger that flooded me. I struggled to get up, ignoring my midwife’s protests.
“Nancy, you shouldn’t—”
“I need to see this for myself,” I growled.
Josh helped me as we made our way to the living room. The scene was surreal. People were chatting and drinking, as if it were a casual Sunday barbecue.
A banner hung on the wall that read: “WELCOME BABY!”
Elizabeth was in the middle of it all, chatting with a group of women I didn’t recognize. She didn’t even notice us.
“What the heck is going on here?” I shouted, my voice slicing through the chatter.
The room went silent, all eyes on us. Elizabeth turned around, her face going pale when she saw me.
“Nancy! Oh my God! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to—”
“Elizabeth, what is happening here?”
“Oh, I… we were just…”
“Just what? Turning my home birth into a show?”
Elizabeth looked offended. “Now, Nancy, don’t be dramatic. We’re just celebrating!”
“Celebrating? I’m in labor, Elizabeth! This isn’t a party!”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, you wouldn’t even know we were here! I thought you’d like the support.”
I felt another contraction coming on and gritted my teeth against the pain and anger. “Support? This is a circus!”
Josh stepped forward, his voice low and serious. “Everyone needs to leave. Now.”
People scrambled to grab their things, and Elizabeth tried one last time. “Nancy, you’re overreacting. This is a happy time!”
I turned to her, my words sharp. “This is my home birth. My moment. If you can’t respect that, you can leave too.”
Without waiting for a response, I waddled back to the bedroom to finish what I started, leaving Josh to handle the chaos.
Hours later, as I held my newborn son, the earlier drama felt like a distant nightmare. Josh sat beside me, eyes full of wonder as he stroked our baby’s cheek.
“He’s perfect!” he whispered.
I nodded, too overwhelmed for words. We enjoyed the quiet until a soft knock at the door broke the peace.
Elizabeth peeked in, her eyes red. “Can I… can I come in?”
My jaw tightened. “No!”
Her face fell. “Please, Nancy. I’m so sorry. I just want to see the baby.”
I looked at Josh, feeling torn. He squeezed my hand gently, his eyes understanding but pleading.
“Fine. Five minutes.”
Elizabeth walked in slowly, as if worried I might change my mind. Her face looked pale and drawn as she came closer to the bed.
“Nancy, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I got so excited and carried away.”
I didn’t respond, just stared at her. Josh cleared his throat. “Do you want to see your grandson, Mom?”
Elizabeth nodded, tears falling as Josh carefully handed our son to her. As she held him, her whole demeanor changed. The party-planner was gone, replaced by a gentle, awed grandmother.
After a few minutes, I spoke up. “It’s time for him to feed.”
Elizabeth nodded and reluctantly gave the baby back to me. She lingered at the door. “Thank you for letting me see him,” she said softly before leaving.
As the door closed, Josh turned to me. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. “No. What she did… I can’t just forgive and forget, Josh.”
He nodded and pulled me close. “I understand. We’ll work it out together.”
In the weeks that followed, I struggled with how to move on. Part of me wanted to keep Elizabeth away from our son’s first celebration as revenge for her party crash.
I was still angry and hurt, which made it hard to think about including her.
But as I watched her care for our baby during her visits, always respectful of our space and routines, I realized there was a better way.
When it was time to plan the baby’s first party, I picked up the phone and called her.
“Elizabeth? It’s Nancy. I was hoping you could help with the preparations for the baby’s party next weekend.”
There was a long silence on the line. Finally, she spoke. “You want my help? After what I did?”
“Yes. Because this is what family does. We forgive, learn, and move forward together.”
I could hear tears in her voice as she replied, “Oh, Nancy. Thank you. I promise I won’t let you down.”
True to her word, Elizabeth was calm and helpful during the party. She worked quietly in the background, glowing with pride as we introduced our son to family and friends.
As the last guest left, she came up to me, her eyes shining. “Thank you for letting me be part of this, Nancy. I see now that this is how we celebrate: with love and respect.”
I smiled, feeling the barriers between us break down. “That’s right, Elizabeth. Welcome to the family!”
I Was About to Propose to My Girlfriend on Valentine’s Day When I Accidentally Discovered Her Shocking Secret in Her Google History
For seven years, Jill and I built a life filled with love, trust, and plans for the future. But just days before I proposed, a single glance at her Google search history revealed a secret so shocking it changed everything I thought I knew about the woman I was ready to marry.
Jill and I have been together for seven years. Seven good years. She’s my best friend, my partner, my everything.
A happy couple with their dog | Source: Pexels
She’s the kind of person who lights up a room without trying. She has this easy laugh, the kind that makes people feel at home. She remembers the little things like how I take my coffee, my favorite songs, the way I get grumpy when I’m hungry.
I love her for all of it. We fit perfectly.
A couple having fun in the snow | Source: Pexels
We love the same music. We travel together, never getting tired of each other’s company. My family loves her like their own, and her family has always welcomed me in. I’ve never doubted her. Not once. That’s why I was going to propose.
I had everything planned. Valentine’s Day. A quiet cabin getaway. Just the two of us. A warm fire, a bottle of wine, and the perfect moment.
A couple at home | Source: Pexels
The ring? A simple solitaire, classic and elegant, just like Jill.
I’d pictured it a hundred times. I’d get down on one knee, say something heartfelt, and she’d smile—maybe cry a little—before saying yes. At least, that’s how I thought it would go.
Then, suddenly, things started to change.
A concerned thoughtful man | Source: Freepik
At first, I told myself I was imagining it. Jill was still there, still saying “I love you,” still kissing me goodbye in the mornings. But something was… different.
The warmth in her voice? It wasn’t the same. The way she looked at me? It felt distant, like she was somewhere else. Little things started adding up.
A couple growing cold | Source: Pexels
She’d come home and go straight to the bedroom without our usual chat about the day. Her texts got shorter. When I tried to cuddle with her at night, she’d shift away, just slightly, but enough for me to notice.
One night, I found her sitting on the couch, staring at her phone. She didn’t even look up when I walked in.
A woman on her couch looking at her phone | Source: Pexels
“What’re you looking at?” I asked, sitting next to her.
She jumped, locking the screen. “Nothing.”
I frowned. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired.”
That was her answer for everything.
A tired woman covering her mouth | Source: Pexels
A week later, I tried again. We were in bed, lights off, just the hum of the night around us.
“Jill,” I whispered.
“Hmm?”
I hesitated. “Are we okay?”
She turned her head toward me. Even in the dark, I could feel the weight of her stare. “What do you mean?”
A sleepless man in his bed | Source: Midjourney
“You’ve been… different.” I sighed. “Distant. You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”
She was quiet for too long. Then, finally, she reached for my hand.
“I love you,” she said softly.
But it felt… empty.
A couple holding hands | Source: Pexels
Days passed, and the feeling didn’t go away. She got irritated easily. When I asked if she wanted to grab dinner, she said she wasn’t hungry. When I made a joke, she barely reacted.
One night, she came home late. She looked exhausted.
“Tough day?” I asked.
She rubbed her face. “Yeah.”
A tired woman rubbing her face | Source: Pexels
I waited for her to say more. She didn’t. Something was wrong, and I was going to find out what.
That night, I wasn’t looking for anything. I was just on my laptop, checking something quickly before heading to bed. Jill had used it earlier, but that wasn’t unusual.
I clicked on my browser history out of habit. That’s when I saw the questions, search after search.
A man working on his laptop | Source: Pexels
“How to tell someone I have a child who I hid for years?”
“How to say it without losing them?”
My stomach twisted. I read the words over and over, my mind struggling to catch up.
A child? A lie? I felt a chill crawl up my spine.
Jill didn’t have a child. We’d been together for seven years. She would have told me. Right? My pulse pounded in my ears.
A shocked man | Source: Pexels
I scrolled further. There were more searches. Some were variations of the same question. Some were even worse.
“Will he hate me if he finds out?”
“Can a relationship survive a huge lie?”
My hands started shaking. I sat back in my chair, trying to breathe. My chest felt tight, like the air had been sucked from the room.
A shocked man looking at his laptop | Source: Midjourney
I wanted to believe it was a mistake. Maybe she was looking this up for a friend. Maybe it wasn’t what it seemed. But deep down, I knew it was real, and it was about me.
I should’ve waited. I should’ve taken time to think, to process. But I couldn’t. I needed answers. Now.
A serious man looking at his laptop | Source: Midjourney
Jill was in the bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone. The glow from the screen reflected in her eyes, making her look almost peaceful. She didn’t notice me at first.
When she finally looked up, she gave me a soft smile. Forced.
“You okay?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like my ribs would crack.
A smiling woman in her bedroom | Source: Midjourney
Jill frowned and set her phone aside. “Babe?”
I sat down on the edge of the bed, my hands clenched into fists. My stomach was in knots, my mind racing. I had thought about waiting—about giving myself time to process before confronting her—but I couldn’t. Not with something like this.
I took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. My throat still felt tight, like I was being strangled from the inside.
A couple having a serious talk in their bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“I saw your search history.”
Jill’s face went pale. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
I swallowed hard. “Tell me the truth.” My voice was quieter than I expected. “What child? What lie?”
Her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but no words came out. I waited.
A shocked scared woman | Source: Pexels
The tension in the room grew heavier with every second that passed. Then, suddenly, Jill dropped her head into her hands. Her shoulders started shaking.
A choked sob escaped her.
“Jill,” I whispered. “Please.”
She wiped at her face, her breathing ragged. When she finally looked at me, her eyes were red and glassy.
A black and white photo of a crying woman | Source: Pexels
“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” she whispered. “But I was scared.”
My whole body felt stiff, like I was frozen in place. “Tell me now.”
Jill squeezed her hands together, her fingers trembling. Her chest rose and fell unevenly. She wasn’t just upset—she was terrified.
She took a deep, shaky breath and let the words fall from her lips.
“I have a child.” The world seemed to stop.
A man talking to his sad wife | Source: Midjourney
I stared at her, my brain refusing to process what I had just heard. “You… what?”
Her voice was barely audible. “I had her when I was fourteen.”
I couldn’t speak. Jill sniffled, rubbing her hands over her face. “My parents… they raised her as their own.” Her breath hitched. “They told everyone she was their daughter. Even she doesn’t know the truth.”
A man looking at his wife in disbelief | Source: Midjourney
The room tilted. I felt like I was sinking into the mattress, unable to move, unable to think.
I forced my mouth to work. “So… your little sister…”
Jill nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “She’s not my sister,” she said. “She’s my daughter.”
The air left my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Everything I knew—everything I believed about Jill, about our life together—shifted beneath me.
A shocked man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
Jill’s sister. The girl I had spent holidays with. The one I had joked around with. The one I had watched grow up over the years.
She wasn’t her sister. She was her child.
I felt dizzy. My hands were clammy, my chest tight.
“You’ve lied to me…” My voice cracked. “For seven years?”
A crying woman looking to her side | Source: Pexels
Jill let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” She sniffled. “At first, I thought it didn’t matter. We were young. It wasn’t something I wanted to bring up. But then… time passed. And the longer I waited, the harder it got.”
I clenched my jaw. “You should have told me.”
A serious man in his bedroom | Source: Freepik
“I know.” She looked down at her lap, ashamed. “I thought… maybe I’d never have to.”
I let out a hollow laugh. It wasn’t funny, but I didn’t know what else to do. “And what? Just keep pretending she’s your sister forever?”
She wiped at her face, her hands shaking. “I don’t know. I was scared.”
A crying woman in a hoodie | Source: Pexels
I ran a hand through my hair, my mind spinning. “Did your parents force you to lie?” My voice was rough, uneven.
Jill exhaled shakily. “Not force. But they made it clear it was the best thing for everyone. They thought it would ruin my life if people knew the truth. So they… took over. And I let them.”
I stared at her, my emotions warring inside me.
Judgemental parents in their living room | Source: Midjourney
“I wanted to tell you,” she whispered. “So many times. But every time I tried, I just—” She shook her head. “I was terrified you’d leave.”
I let out a slow breath. “You should have trusted me.”
Tears streamed down her face. “I know.”
I wanted to be angry, but mostly, I just felt… lost.
A shocked puzzled man | Source: Freepik
Jill sniffled. “Please. Say something.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what to say.”
She reached for my hand, gripping it tightly. “I love you. That hasn’t changed.”
I looked at Jill—broken, vulnerable, terrified. But she was still my Jill. The woman I loved. The woman I still wanted forever with.
A couple hugging on a couch | Source: Pexels
So I reached into my pocket, pulled out the ring, and whispered, “Marry me.”
Through her tears, she gasped. “Yes!”
Wedding rings on a table | Source: Pexels
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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