The sound of his voice—bright, confident, full of joy—cut through the room like a knife. My husband froze. The color drained from his face so fast it was impossible to miss, and in that instant, I realized he knew exactly who Simon was talking about.
My husband and I had been together for six years. We had built a life that felt steady and predictable, with a five-year-old son, Simon, who filled every moment of our days.
Life wasn’t perfect, but it felt safe enough that I had stopped asking questions.
Of course, there were cracks. There always are. Moments when Mike seemed distant, his thoughts somewhere I couldn’t reach. I noticed them, but told myself it was normal. Every relationship goes through phases, I repeated to myself.
I should have paid closer attention—especially after the babysitter incident earlier that year.
We both felt the growing distance, so we started weekly date nights, a conscious effort to reconnect. One of Mike’s coworkers recommended a babysitter, a college student. At first, everything seemed fine. Simon liked her. Our evenings out felt easier.
Then one night, Mike told me we had to let her go.
He chose his words carefully.
“I think she has a crush on me,” he said. “When we’re alone, she says things that make me uncomfortable.”
“What kind of things?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Compliments about my suit, my cologne… nothing obvious, but it feels off.”
So we let her go.
At the time, it reassured me. He had come to me instead of hiding it, proof that we were still a team. But a small voice in the back of my mind told me I wasn’t hearing the full story.
I got comfortable. I stopped looking too closely. I believed nothing could slip past me.
Then Christmas proved me wrong.
The morning started like any other. Wrapping paper covered the floor, coffee forgotten on the side table, and Simon bouncing from gift to gift with the restless excitement only children seem to have.
Every present seemed carefully chosen by Mike and me—or so I thought.
Mike handed Simon a medium-sized box. “This one’s from Santa.”
I smiled. We always saved one special gift for last.
Simon tore it open and froze.
For a heartbeat, the room held its breath with him.
Then his face lit up, joy spilling out as he hugged the box tightly.
Inside was a collector’s model car—the one he had asked for all year, the one Mike and I had agreed was too expensive for a five-year-old.
Simon gasped, thrilled: “YES! The other mom kept her promise! I knew she would!”
My legs went stiff. “The… other mom?” I asked, forcing a tight, unnatural smile.
Simon nodded eagerly. “Yeah! She said if I was really good, I’d get it for Christmas.”
I slowly turned to my husband.
Mike wasn’t smiling. His face had gone pale, his eyes fixed somewhere just beyond me.
“Who is the other mom?” I asked softly.
Simon hesitated. “Dad knows her,” he said. “She comes sometimes. She told me not to worry.”
Those words echoed heavily in my mind.
“Mike,” I whispered. “Explain.”
He looked at me, fear flickering across his face. His mouth opened, then closed.
“It’s Megan,” he finally said.
“The babysitter?” My voice stayed calm but shook.
“Yes. But it’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is,” I insisted. “Because right now, it sounds like you’ve been hiding another woman in our child’s life.”
He ran his hands together nervously.
“After we let her go, she messaged me. She apologized, said she hadn’t meant to make me uncomfortable. I thought maybe I had overreacted.”
“And then?”
“She asked to see Simon. Just once.”
My stomach tightened.
“And you said yes.”
“I didn’t think it would go this far,” he said quickly. “She came by when you were at work. Played with him. And then one day… I heard her telling him to call her his ‘other mom.’ To keep it a secret.”
I caught my breath painfully.
“I told her to stop. I told her never to come back,” he continued. “But the gift under the tree—I didn’t put it there.”
The horrifying truth sank in slowly.
Simon appeared in the doorway, pale and uncertain.
“Mom,” he asked softly, “is the other mom bad?”
I knelt before him, my heart breaking. “She’s confused, sweetheart.”
He frowned. “She came to my school. She asked me for a key so she could surprise us for Christmas dinner.”
Mike and I stared at each other, horror spreading.
A key.
That was how she had gotten in.
Every prepared dish in the fridge suddenly felt wrong.
I sent Simon back to the living room and turned to Mike.
“You need to call the police,” I said. “I’m going to her apartment.”
When Megan opened the door, wearing an apron with foil-covered dishes neatly behind her, I finally understood the kind of surprise she had been planning.
“I made Christmas dinner for my boys,” she said coldly. “I just needed you out of the way.”
Fear wrapped around me, slow and suffocating.
Then the police arrived.
She screamed that she had done nothing wrong, that Simon had asked her to be his ‘other mom,’ and that she and Mike were meant to be together.
There is now a restraining order. Mandatory treatment. Years of distance between her and my family.
But Christmas will never feel the same again.
Because sometimes, the most dangerous betrayals don’t arrive loudly. They slip in quietly—through gifts under the tree, whispered promises to a child, and the silence of someone you trusted not telling the truth.
