I’m a single mom, and my son is 5. His dad ditched me before Eli was even born. Pregnancy, giving birth, working, raising a baby, the colds, the crying — it was the hardest time. I would’ve totally lost it if it wasn’t for my sister. Lily was always there — helping with Eli, supporting me 24/7. She and my son were the only real family I had. Every weekend, Lily would take Eli out for some fresh air. God, if only I knew how that would all end… She was my anchor. I was drowning in exhaustion and loneliness until Lily walked through my door. She didn’t just help; she saved me. She’d scoop Eli up, let me sleep for an hour. She cooked, cleaned, whispered words of encouragement when I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
Eli adored her. He loved his Auntie Lily more than anyone. She had this boundless energy, making everything an adventure. Their weekend outings became sacred. “Auntie Lily and me time!” he’d chirp, grabbing her hand. They’d go to the park, the library, sometimes just for a walk to “find treasures.” I’d use that time to recharge. I never asked too many questions about where they went; why would I? I trusted her implicitly. She was my only family.
Then little things started. Eli would come home smelling faintly of a different laundry detergent. He’d mention new toys I hadn’t bought, or a “big swing set” not at our local park. Just a bigger park, I told myself. He started asking about his “other dad.” MY STOMACH DROPPED THE FIRST TIME HE SAID IT. “What other dad, sweetheart?” “Auntie Lily’s dad,” he’d say innocently. My dad? Our dad? No, he meant a different dad. I brushed it off, thinking he was confusing family members.
But the questions grew more specific. He mentioned a “garden with a pond” and “Daddy’s big dog.” We have neither. I started pressing Lily. “Where do you guys go?” She’d be vague. “Oh, just exploring.” “Different parks.” Her eyes would flicker away. A cold dread settled in. No, not Lily. Not my sister.
One Saturday, Eli was ecstatic. “We’re seeing Daddy today!” he shouted. I froze. My heart hammered. DADDY? Lily walked in, a strained smile. It was a slip, I hoped. Just a misunderstanding. Then Eli pulled a small, hand-drawn picture from his pocket. A crude stick figure of a man, a woman, and a little boy. Scrawled underneath: “Me and Daddy and Auntie Lily.”
I looked at Lily. Her face was a mask of guilt. “Lily,” I whispered, “what is this?” She wouldn’t meet my gaze. She just took Eli’s hand, too quickly, and pulled him towards the door. “We’re going to be late,” she mumbled.
I called her phone repeatedly. No answer. The next day, she finally came over, alone. Her eyes were red. She sat down, not looking at me. “I… I have to tell you something,” she started, barely a whisper. “Remember when he left? Before Eli was born?”
My mind raced. “Yes. Of course, I remember. The hardest time of my life.”
“Well,” she took a deep breath, “he didn’t just leave. He left… for me.”
The world tilted. My ears rang. NO. NO, SHE WAS LYING. “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” I shrieked. “He ditched me! He ran!”
“He chose me,” she repeated, firmer now, tears streaming. “He came to me. We fell in love.”
Every memory of her support, every hug, every time she scooped up my son… it all twisted into something grotesque. She knew. She knew the whole time. The man who abandoned me, who abandoned our son, was with her. The man who was Eli’s father was also her partner. The weekend outings? Not just fresh air. They were family time. Their family time.
“And Eli?” I managed, my voice shredded. “He knows?”
She finally met my eyes, a bottomless pit of anguish and shame. “He calls him ‘Daddy’ because… because he’s his half-brother.”
The air left my lungs. My vision blurred. HALF-BROTHER. Another child. Her child. With him. My world didn’t just tilt, it shattered. Everything I knew was a lie. The sister who saved me, the one person I trusted, had built her happiness on the ruins of mine, with the very man who destroyed it. And my son… my little boy… has been going to visit his father and his aunt, who are raising their child together. My family wasn’t just broken; it was a cruel, elaborate joke. My sister wasn’t my savior; she was the architect of my deepest betrayal. I stood there, shaking, realizing the ultimate truth: I was never a single mom. I was just the other woman.
