When my son married Alice, I was in shock. Not because of the wedding – but because of his choice. Beautiful? Yes. Young? Yes. But far too self-confident, with nails longer than a tigress’s, and a look as if she already owned not just the house, but the whole street.
I tried to be polite. She was cold. I baked pies – she ordered sushi. I offered help – she said, “We can handle it ourselves.” My son remained silent, as if caught between two fires.
More and more often I found myself thinking: “What has she done to my boy?”
And then I found… an earring. A woman’s. But not Alice’s. I know her jewelry – it sparkles like a Christmas tree. This one was modest, silver, simple. It was behind the couch in the living room. I didn’t make a scene, but doubt settled in.
A week later – the second clue. A note. On a torn piece of paper: “Thank you for yesterday. It meant a lot to me. Yours, K.”
I knew it wasn’t from Alice. And it wasn’t from me. My world shook. I decided to talk to Alice. I invited her for tea, without my son. I expected a scandal, tears, reproaches.
But she came calmly, with a homemade pie, sat down and suddenly said:
— I know what you found.
I tensed up. She continued:
— It’s not his lover. It’s his therapist.
I froze.
— He had been struggling for over a year. After being laid off. He didn’t tell anyone. I noticed him withdrawing. I convinced him to go to therapy. I didn’t tell you – he asked me not to. And the earring – it’s not an earring. It’s a charm from a bracelet, it fell off in the therapist’s bag. And the note – it’s hers. She thanked him for trusting her.
I sat there in silence. Then I started to cry. Because I felt like a fool.
I thought she was a homewrecker. But she became his salvation. And my family. From that day, we became close. Now we bake pies together. And order sushi together.
And recently, she whispered to me:
— I’m pregnant. Only you know for now.
And you know what? For the first time, I felt that I’m not losing a son. I’m gaining a daughter.
