I had always believed my parents had the perfect marriage. They laughed at the same dumb jokes, danced in the kitchen when they thought no one was looking, and never missed a chance to remind me how much they loved each other.

But now? Now I wasn't sure what to believe.

I moved out of my parents' house when I was eighteen, eager to chase my independence in the city.

My apartment was tiny. It had just enough space for me, a sagging couch, and a kitchen that barely fit two people. But it was mine, and I was proud of it.

Between work and school, I barely had time to breathe, let alone visit my parents in the suburbs. We kept in touch, of course. But I hadn't actually seen them in months.

So, when my phone buzzed that afternoon and I saw my dad's name, I grinned and picked up immediately.

"Hey, stranger," I teased.

"Hey, kiddo," he said warmly. "Guess what? I'm coming to the city tomorrow for work."

"What? No way!" I shot up from my couch. "That's amazing! Where are you staying?"

"Some hotel downtown. Just for a couple of nights."

"Well, I'm definitely coming to see you. No arguments."

He chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

I hung up, buzzing with excitement.

My dad and I had always been close. He was the one who taught me how to drive, who never missed a single one of my school plays, and who made the best Saturday morning pancakes.

I couldn't wait to see him.

The next afternoon, I arrived at his hotel, practically skipping through the lobby. When he opened the door, I threw my arms around him.

"Dad!" I squealed.

"Hey, kiddo," he laughed, squeezing me tight. "Wow, you look great."

"So do you," I said, stepping back to take him in. He looked the same, but his hair was more grey and longer than the last time I saw him.

And his smile? That was unchanged.

We sat in his hotel room, catching up like no time had passed.

He asked about school, my job, and if I was eating enough.

Meanwhile, I asked about Mom, the house, and our dog, Buster. Everything about our meeting felt normal. I felt safe and super happy.

That was until the knock on the door.

Dad was in the bathroom when I heard it.

"Can you grab that for me?" he called out. "Must be the courier."

I got up and opened the door to a delivery man holding a small brown package. I signed for it and read the label.

"You want me to open it?" I asked.

"Sure, it's probably just something from work."

I peeled back the tape, expecting documents or maybe a replacement part for something.

Instead, I found something I could've never imagined.

A positive pregnancy test.

With it was a printed note that read, My congratulations, darling! Meet me at Café *** at 7 p.m.

My head spun as I stared at the note and then at the pregnancy test.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.