My Six-Year-Old Told Me About His Sister Before My Husband Did Chapter 01

My Six-Year-Old Told Me About His Sister Before My Husband Did Chapter 01

The night I found out I was pregnant, my six-year-old son pointed at a family influencer on his tablet and said, very calmly, “That’s my sister.”

I laughed despite myself and lightly tapped his forehead.

The influencer’s profile was tagged in Port Aster. As far as I knew, Tavish had never even met her.

“She has a million followers, Tavish. Don’t make things up.”

Then I touched my still-flat stomach and looked at him, nervous and hopeful all at once.

“Do you want a little sister that badly? How about I give you one?”

I watched his face carefully, afraid to miss even the smallest reaction.

But Tavish only opened the girl’s old posts with a blank expression.

“That purse in the photo was my gift to her,” he said. “Dad said she’s the only sister I have, so I have to take good care of her.”

My heart dropped.

The smile froze on my face.

“Mom, Dad said you would find out someday anyway.”

He placed his small hand on my stomach. His dark eyes stayed fixed on me, strangely calm.

“I promised Dad I would protect her. So you can’t have another annoying baby.”

His voice stayed soft.

“You’ll listen to me, right?”

…

That was the first time my son had ever looked at me like that.

A chill crept slowly up my spine. I forced myself to look angry instead of afraid.

“Go do your homework. Say one more ridiculous thing, and when your father gets home, I’ll have him talk to you.”

Tavish looked at me for a moment, then turned and walked back to his room.

“Do whatever you want.”

His voice came through the hall, quiet and certain.

“Dad will be on my side too.”

The door shut with a heavy thud, leaving a wall between us.

I sat frozen on the couch, my hands and feet trembling.

He had not sounded like a child making things up.

Had Thayer really been hiding another family from me?

That influencer.

The mother’s name was Coralie Venn. Thirty years old, gentle-faced, with a soft smile.

Her daughter was Twyla.

Only four months younger than Tavish.

I had followed their account for a year. The child’s father had never once appeared on camera.

Now that I looked closely, Twyla had Thayer’s eyes.

My fingers dug into my palm until they turned white as I scrolled through Coralie’s posts.

Back in June, Coralie had posted that Twyla’s father had accidentally given her milk, even though she had a dairy allergy. Panicked, she had posted in her private follower group asking for advice.

Tavish had the same allergy, so I had experience. I sent her a long list of things to watch for.

Afterward, she messaged me privately.

[It’s all her dad’s fault. He only comes home once in a while, and the second he does, he wants to give Twyla everything. Thank you so much for today.]

The photo attached showed Twyla asleep.

Beside her was a man’s hand.

The ring on his finger was identical to Thayer’s.

I had spent two months designing that ring myself.

One of a kind.

And at the time, I had been too busy setting up Thayer’s study to notice.

It felt like all the blood in my body had gone cold.

Tears slid down my face.

But when had he even found the time to go to Port Aster?

At exactly 8:10, the front door opened.

Thayer walked in right on time.

He took my face in his hands, startled and full of concern.

“Izzy, why are you crying?”

I looked at him, and the tears came harder.

I could not get a single word out.

Thayer turned, pushed Tavish’s bedroom door open hard, and pulled him out to scold him.

“Did you upset your mother again?”

Once, that scene would have made me feel loved.

Now it only felt like a knife slowly turning in my chest.

The bag he had set down on the counter held a new cedar-and-amber reed diffuser.

I never liked scented diffusers.

But Coralie’s videos were full of it.

I checked the brand.

It was sold only at a boutique in Merroway City.

Nowhere in Port Aster.

“Izzy,” Thayer said as he led Tavish toward the kitchen, “did you pack for Tavish and me? We’re leaving for Graycombe County tomorrow.”

I blinked.

“I packed this morning.”

Every month on the twentieth, Thayer went to the family cemetery in Graycombe County for the memorial visit.

He said my old back injury made long flights hard, so he never let me go.

I used to think it was sweet.

Later, when Tavish got older, Thayer started bringing him along.

I had never once questioned it.

Now, with shaking hands, I logged into Thayer’s airline account.

Merroway City to Port Aster.

Eight years of marriage.

236 tickets.

Not one flight to Graycombe County.

So it had all been a lie.

A notification popped up on my phone.

Coralie had posted a new video.

[Twyla’s dad is coming home tomorrow, so I’m at the grocery store buying all their favorites.]

As she moved past the family planning aisle, she paused, smiled at the camera, and dropped two boxes of condoms into her cart.

The comments exploded.

I felt like I had fallen through ice.

I knew she had filmed it for me.

Across the table, Thayer kept placing food onto my plate, his voice warm and ordinary.

“Don’t stay up too late while we’re gone. Tavish and I will come back as soon as the memorial visit is over.”

Under the table, my fingers tightened around the positive pregnancy test until the edges bit into my skin.

My vision blurred.

Then I looked at him and asked, “Are you going to the family cemetery, or to Port Aster?”