Oops I Called Your Father “Daddy”

Okay…

Cheating is already bad.

We all know that.

You catch your partner cheating, you cry, blast sad songs, stalk everybody involved, swear you’re done with love, then somehow end up checking their I*******m at two in the morning like you’re an FBI agent that forgot to clock out.

Standard procedure.

But cheating with a man?

Now that’s diabolical.

That’s the kind of plot twist that makes you pause real life and ask God if He accidentally gave your life to the wrong scriptwriter.

Like…

Out of everybody on this green earth.

Seven billion people.

Women.

Men.

Aliens, probably.

My husband looked around and said,

“Yeah… my best friend will do.”

“I wanna fuck my best friend instead”

Honestly?

I don’t even know which part offended me the most.

The cheating?

The lying?

Or the fact that this man let me spend five years playing Wife of the Year while he was out here living a completely different love story.

Before some of you start acting like detectives in the comments talking about, “Emma, the signs were obvious.”

Respectfully…

Shut up.

Because I already know.

Now.

Not then.

Back then I was in love.

And love is a medical condition because there’s no other explanation for the level of foolishness I displayed.

Looking back now, God wasn’t sending me red flags.

He was throwing bricks.

And I was catching them, decorating them with ribbons, and calling them “communication.”

Tell me why my husband knew more about skincare than Sephora employees.

Why did this grown man own more serums than I owned socks?

Why did he have opinions about throw pillows?

Throw pillows!

One day I bought two white pillows, and this man had the audacity to look disappointed.

“Babe,” he said, “those aren’t the same white.”

…

I’m sorry?

White is white.

Apparently not.

According to Professor Mason Callahan, one was ivory and the other was winter linen.

Winter linen?

What does winter have to do with a pillow?

Still…

Did I question it?

No.

Because apparently my brain goes on annual leave whenever I fall in love.

The funniest part?

Today was our fifth wedding anniversary.

Five years.

Five whole years.

Do you know how embarrassing that is?

People finish medical school in less time than I spent unknowingly being the beard in somebody else’s love story.

And just wait until I tell you what I walked into…

Mason wiped his mouth.

Logan looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.

And me?

I was still standing there holding the stupid wrapping paper like my entire life hadn’t just turned into a damn episode of a show I never signed up for.

I could keep telling you what happened next.

The silence.

The way my hands started shaking.

The way Mason said my name like he was already tired of the conversation.

But if I stay here I’m going to start screaming all over again and nobody needs that.

So now…

Let me take y’all back to the very beginning.

rewinds

Okay.

Picture this.

The afternoon of our fifth anniversary.

I was in the car driving home, phone on speaker, talking to Nia like I always do when I’m nervous and need somebody to talk me off the ledge.

The custom watch was in a little box on the passenger seat.

I had been hiding it in my drawer for weeks.

The candles were already in a bag in the trunk.

I had timed everything.

Mason said he would be home by seven.

That gave me just enough time to set the table, light everything, and pretend I was the type of wife who had her life fully together.

Nia was chewing something on the other end of the phone.

“You’re really doing all this?” she asked.

“It’s our anniversary.”

“I know what day it is, Emma. I’m asking if you’re really about to decorate the house like you’re proposing to the man.”

I switched lanes and checked the time again.

“I just want it to feel special.”

“You say that every year.”

“And every year I mean it.”

Nia went quiet for a second.

I could already hear the lecture forming.

“You bought the watch he casually mentioned one time three months ago.”

“He said it looked nice.”

“He says a lot of things look nice. You don’t have to turn every comment into a mission.”

I tightened my hands on the steering wheel.

“I want him to feel chosen, Nia. Is that so bad?”

“It’s not bad. It’s just… a lot. You’re always the one planning. Always the one adjusting. Always the one trying to make the night perfect while he just shows up and exists.”

“He’s been busy with work.”

“He’s been busy with work for five years.”

I didn’t answer that.

Because she wasn’t wrong and I didn’t feel like fighting her while I was trying to stay in a good mood.

The whole point of today was to celebrate.

Not to pick apart my marriage on speakerphone.

“I’m almost home,” I told her. “I’ll call you later.”

“Emma.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“Fine. But if he doesn’t act properly impressed by that watch I’m coming over to fight him myself.”

I laughed under my breath and ended the call.

The house was quiet when I pulled into the driveway.

His car wasn’t there yet.

Perfect.

I grabbed the bags, unlocked the door, and stepped inside already planning where the candles would go.

I had no idea I was about to walk upstairs and lose the version of my life I thought I was living.

I was already smiling a little.

I had the whole thing planned in my head.

Light the candles.

Put the watch on his pillow.

Maybe change into the dress he once said he liked.

I wanted him to walk in and feel like somebody had been thinking about him all day.

I reached the bedroom door….

Are y’all ready to see what I fucking saw?

Here you go.