Susan sank into the chair, feeling a profound emptiness spread through her. Mark had another child. A child she knew nothing about after ten years of marriage.
The doorbell rang, making her jump. Susan quickly stuffed the receipts into her pocket and went to answer it. A courier stood on the porch with a thick envelope.
“For Susan Morrow? Certified mail. I just need a signature, please.”
Susan signed and closed the door. The envelope was from the bank—an official notice of foreclosure proceedings. The dry, legal language didn’t hide the bottom line: she had 14 days to pay the debt in full, or the house would go to auction.
“Mom, what’s that?” Katie peeked out of her room, where she’d been doing her homework. At eight, she was very perceptive and immediately sensed something was wrong.
“Nothing important, sweetie, just some papers,” Susan lied, hiding the envelope behind her back.
She couldn’t tell her daughter they might be kicked out of their home. She couldn’t tell her that her father, it seemed, had been living a double life.
Five-year-old Mikey ran out of the living room, a toy car in his hand.
“Where’s Daddy’s phone? You said you were giving it to Grandma Eleanor.”
Susan pulled the iPhone from her purse and showed it to them. The screen was flawless, good as new. But now, the phone no longer felt like a memento of her husband. It felt like evidence of his betrayal.
“It’s shiny,” Mikey said in awe. “Can I play a game on it?”
“No, it’s not a toy!” Susan snapped, and immediately regretted her harsh tone.
The little boy’s face fell, and he ran back to his room.
That evening, after the kids were asleep, Susan sat down at her computer and started searching for Alina Vance. She found several social media profiles with that name, but it was hard to tell which was the right one. Finally, she stumbled upon a page where a “Mark M.” was listed under “Friends.” The profile was private, but the basic information was visible: Alina Vance, 28, lives in the “Birchwood Estates” community. Relationship status was not listed.
Susan looked up the address online. It was an exclusive, gated community on the outskirts of the city, where homes started at over a million dollars. So Mark’s money hadn’t just been for child support; it had funded a life of luxury for his mistress.
The next morning, Susan dropped the kids at school and daycare and drove out to Birchwood Estates. The drive took over an hour. The community was nestled in a picturesque pine forest, far from the noise of the city. A security guard at the gate gave her worn-out sedan a skeptical look but waved her through after she gave him the address.
Number 47 was a two-story modern home with a manicured lawn and a luxury car in the driveway. Susan stood at the gate for a long time, gathering her courage. What would she say to this woman? How could she even begin this conversation? Finally, she pressed the buzzer.
The door was opened by a young woman holding an infant. Alina was beautiful: long dark hair, perfect features, and a slender figure, even having recently given birth. She looked at the stranger on her doorstep with curiosity.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Susan Morrow. Mark’s wife,” Susan blurted out, not knowing how else to start.
Alina’s expression shifted from surprise to caution, then to something that looked like smug satisfaction. A little girl of about seven, with dark, curly hair and familiar eyes—a mirror image of Mark as a child—peered out from behind her.
“Ah, the widow,” Alina said slowly. “Well, since you came all this way, you might as well come in. Sophie, go to your room.”
The girl obediently disappeared up the stairs.
Alina led Susan into a spacious living room with expensive furniture and a massive flat-screen TV. Everything in the room screamed wealth, from the marble floors to the crystal chandelier.
“Coffee?” Alina asked, placing the baby in a high-tech bouncer.
“No, thank you. I came to find out why my husband was sending you money. And what a $50,000 loan has to do with it.”
Alina let out a sharp, unpleasant laugh.
“*Your* husband? He was my man for seven years. You were just the official wife, the respectable front. He was planning to divorce you as soon as Sophie started school.”
Susan felt a knot tighten in her stomach, but she forced herself to speak calmly.
“Even if that’s true, what about the loan? Why would he mortgage our house?”
“Mark promised to take care of Sophie and me. He said he was going to buy us a bigger house so we could all live together. In the meantime, he sent money—an advance on child support, you could say.”
Alina stood up and pulled a folder from a drawer in a sleek credenza.
“Here’s the DNA test. Sophie is his daughter, you can be sure of that. And this is her birth certificate. The father’s name is blank, but only because Mark asked me not to make it official.”
Susan took the documents with a shaking hand. The DNA analysis did indeed confirm Mark’s paternity with 99.9% probability. Sophie’s date of birth was May 15, 2016. That made her seven years old.
“Seven years ago,” Susan whispered. “Katie was just a year old, and I was pregnant with Mikey.”
“Yeah, the timing was a little awkward,” Alina said with an indifferent shrug. “But what can you do? Mark wasn’t planning on having another kid with you, but it happened.”
Those words hurt more than anything. While she had been carrying Mikey, overjoyed about their growing family, Mark was already with another woman, raising another child.
“And the baby?” Susan nodded toward the bouncer.
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