My husband Nick and I had always shared everything—or so I thought. We’d been married for five years, building a peaceful life filled with weekend breakfasts and shared dreams. When he turned 34 and decided to train for a marathon, I supported him wholeheartedly. Every Saturday morning, he’d leave early for group runs with Jake and Chris, coming home tired but glowing. Then one Thursday,

he forgot his phone at home. It rang. I answered, expecting a spam call—but a cheerful woman on the other end said, “Your daughter isn’t feeling well. Please come pick her up.” Daughter? I was stunned. We didn’t have children. Had Nick hidden a child from me all this time? I checked his call logs and saw frequent calls to Parkview Elementary. My heart dropped. The next Saturday,