One typical morning, I stepped outside to see a ‘Just Had a Baby’ sticker on the back of my boyfriend’s car. We had been dating for two years, and there was no baby. That moment shattered everything I thought I knew about our relationship.
Life has a way of dealing us some pretty terrible blows, doesn’t it? Actually, no—let me rephrase that. Life has a knack for completely falling apart when you least expect it. But let me walk you through it.
There was a time when I thought my life was a fairytale. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but it felt cozy and warm, like everything was finally aligning.
I had a job I enjoyed, a boyfriend who made me feel valued, and many dreams we were beginning to build together. Eric and I had been dating for two years, and everything felt genuine, as though it was meant to be.
It all started so suddenly. We met at a concert and clicked immediately. It felt like fate, and we couldn’t stop talking. We never stopped after that night.
But there was one obstacle: distance. Eric lived in another city, which made things more complicated than I liked to admit. Still, he made the effort. Every week, he drove to see me and stayed at my place. I never visited him because he told me he had a roommate, and it wasn’t ideal for guests.
I believed him. Or, more accurately, I wanted to believe him.
We had plans—real ones. He promised that once his work matters were sorted, he would move in with me. We talked about adopting a dog, redecorating the living room, and building a life together under the same roof. I held onto those dreams as if they were solid, trustworthy. I had no reason to doubt.
Then, one morning, my phone rang. It was Leslie.
Her voice came through with barely contained excitement. “Rachel! Oh my gosh, congratulations! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Still half asleep, I rubbed my eyes. “Tell you what?”
“The baby, of course!”
My heart stopped. “What baby?”
There was a pause. “Yours and Eric’s… right?”
I sat up, fully awake now. “Leslie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She hesitated, then said, “I just drove past your house and saw Eric’s car parked outside. There’s a sticker on the back that says ‘Just Had a Baby.’ I thought… I mean, I assumed…”
I stood there, unable to speak. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I stared at the wall, a cold chill spreading down my spine.
“Oh no,” Leslie gasped. “Rachel… You didn’t know?”
“No,” I whispered. “I didn’t.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I thought you were keeping it from me. Maybe you should talk to him.”
I thanked her and hung up. The air in the house felt suddenly heavier, like it was holding onto a secret. I walked outside, not even bothering to grab a jacket, and made my way to Eric’s car.
There it was—bold white letters across the rear window: ‘Just Had a Baby.’ The type of sticker new parents proudly display.
My hands shook. My stomach churned. I tried to think of an explanation, but my gut knew. It screamed at me.
I marched back into the house, fury bubbling up inside me. Eric was still asleep, his face buried in the pillow, as if nothing was wrong.
“Eric!” I shook him awake. “Get up.”
He groaned. “What’s going on?”
“Get up now,” I demanded, pushing his shoulder until he sat up, rubbing his temples.
“Rachel, seriously, I have a headache…”
“Would you like to explain the sticker on your car?”
He blinked. “What sticker?”
“Don’t play dumb. The one everyone on the street can see.”
His face turned pale. “I didn’t put it there.”
“Do you have a child, Eric?”
He looked at me, confused, then hurried outside. I followed him. He stood in front of the car, staring at the sticker as if he had never seen it before.
“I swear,” he said, “I didn’t put that there. I don’t know where it came from.”
“You expect me to believe someone just walked by and slapped that sticker on your car?” I crossed my arms.
He hesitated. “We were out last night celebrating my friend’s new baby. Maybe one of the guys thought it’d be funny.”
“Funny?” I repeated, raising my voice. “You think this is funny?”
“No! I’m just saying—maybe someone thought it was a joke. We used my car to get around. I had no idea until now.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” I glared at him. “Because if you’re hiding something—”
“I’m not,” he said quickly. “Rachel, I love you. There’s no one else. No baby. Nothing.”
He gently placed his hands on my shoulders, trying to calm me. I didn’t pull away, but inside, I was already crumbling.
“Alright,” I said after a long pause. “I believe you.”
But even as I spoke those words, something deep inside me began to shift. Trust doesn’t vanish all at once; it rots slowly from the inside.
Later that day, Eric told me he had to leave. “There’s an emergency at work,” he said, pulling on his jacket. “I’ll be back later this week, I promise.”
“Fine,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.
As he reached his car, I called after him. “Aren’t you going to remove the sticker?”
“I’ll do it later. I’m running late.”
He kissed me goodbye and drove off.
I texted Leslie: He said it’s from a party. One of his friends must’ve stuck it on.
She replied instantly: Do you believe that?
I stared at my screen for a long time but didn’t answer. I didn’t know how.
The rest of the day was a blur. I cleaned, paced, folded laundry I didn’t even need to fold.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It gnawed at me, sharp and constant. I realized I knew so little about Eric’s life. He never introduced me to his friends. He said they all lived far away. He didn’t have social media. And he’d once told me his parents were dead. There was no way to verify any of it.
But I did know one thing—where he worked. I opened my laptop and found his company’s social media page.
Scrolling through, I found a picture of Eric giving a presentation. The comments were full of praise. But then I saw it.
“So proud of my Eric!” — posted by someone named Susan.
I clicked on her profile. It was public. My blood ran cold. There were photos of Eric, one with a smiling older woman, with the caption: “My wonderful son.”
I kept scrolling. Then I saw it—Eric, again, this time with a little boy, maybe four years old, and a pregnant woman smiling beside him. The caption read: “My son and his beautiful family.” My breath stopped.
I clicked on the pregnant woman’s profile. It was filled with photos of her, Eric, and their son, along with a newborn in a hospital blanket. They were happy. A complete family.
I sat there, frozen. I had been with him for two years. I wasn’t a girlfriend. I was a secret.
I texted Leslie: Eric’s married. He has kids.
She replied: What a jerk. You can’t let him get away with this.
She was right. I had to do something. I scrolled back through the woman’s profile, Angela’s. Her latest post was about looking for a nanny. My hands were steady as I dialed the number.
The night before the interview, I barely slept. I cried for hours, but it wasn’t sadness anymore. It was anger. Betrayal. I felt humiliated and used. But I also felt something else—clarity.
The next morning, I drove to Angela’s address. It was a quiet street. Her house was pretty. Eric’s car wasn’t there. I rang the doorbell, and Angela greeted me with a soft smile.
She invited me inside, and we talked. But I wasn’t there for the job.
When I finally told her the truth, she was taken aback. Eric walked in as I finished my confession. His face went pale.
“I came to tell your wife the truth,” I said.
He dragged me outside, trying to stop me from speaking. But I was done.
I told Angela everything. She was devastated, but she thanked me for telling her.
I left the house that day knowing I had done the right thing. And as I drove away, my chest still ached, but now I was free. The truth had set me free
