The Hidden Baby Novel – Lana’s POV My car pulled into the driveway, the tires crunching on the gravel, the sound faint under the hum of the engine. I sat there for a moment, staring at the house, our house. A picture-perfect home in a rich neighborhood because my husband bought my dream house as a wedding gift. It was the kind of place I used to dream about when I was a little girl, since I grew up in a small apartment with peeling wallpaper and neighbors who argued too loudly through the thin walls. I had everything now: a loving husband, a steady job teaching preschool at the age of twenty-five, and a life that felt almost too good to be true. Marco Rossi, with his Italian-American charm and sharp suits, had swept me off my feet nine months ago. We had been married for seven months now, and though our schedules didn’t always align, we’d promised each other we’d make it work.
Still, something had felt off for the past two weeks. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, a subtle shift in the way he looked at me, or the way his eyes seemed to be glued on his phone more often than not. But I ignored it because love required trust, and I trusted him. I grabbed my bag and stepped out of the car, the summer air crisp but warm against my skin. The porch light flickered faintly, casting a soft glow over the stone steps. I pushed the door open, I called out, “Marco? I’m home!” No answer. I kicked off my flats, my feet aching from a day spent chasing after four-year-olds. I dropped my bag on the hallway table, and I noticed Marco’s keys weren’t in their usual spot. He had to be home; his car was in the driveway. “Marco?” I called again, heading toward the kitchen. Then I heard it, a soft voice coming from upstairs. My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t Marco’s voice, but someone else’s. A woman’s voice. I froze at the base of the stairs, my mind racing. Maybe it was nothing? Maybe he had a client over since he owned a huge law firm… but why would they be upstairs, in our bedroom? The sound of low whispers grew louder as I ascended the staircase, each step feeling heavier than the last.
My stomach clenched, my palms damp with sweat. The door to our bedroom was ajar, and through the crack, I saw the bed, our bed. My heart pounded in my ears as I pushed the door open, and time seemed to slow. Marco stood near the bed, his black suit jacket was off while his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his black hair slightly disheveled as if he’d been running his fingers through it. His amber eyes meet mine, his face paling, and then my eyes shifted to her. The woman was sitting on the bed, our bed. She was leaning back against the pillows. She had long dark brown hair, and her face was soft and striking, her graceful features matched her golden eyes and perfect jawline. But it was her round belly, impossibly round, that stole my breath. She was heavily pregnant. Nine months, if I had to guess. She rested a hand on her stomach as if protecting the life inside from me. “Lana,” Marco started, his voice rough. “It’s not—” I held up a hand, silencing him. “Who is she?” I managed to say, though my voice cracked. “I’m Sofia,” the woman said, her accent faintly Italian, matching Marco’s in a way that made me feel like an outsider in my own marriage.
“And I’m…I’m carrying Marco’s child.” I gripped the doorframe, my vision swimming. “W-What?” I managed to choke out, staring at Marco, waiting for him to deny it, to tell me this was some horrible misunderstanding. He didn’t. “I was going to tell you,” Marco said finally, his voice barely audible. “I slept with her a week before I met you, Lana. I didn’t even know she was pregnant until two weeks ago.” Sofia shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wincing slightly as if the baby had kicked. “I didn’t mean to show up like this,” Sofia said. “But Marco is the father, and I thought he should be here for…for his son’s birth.” His son. I felt a sharp pain in my chest, as if someone had reached inside and squeezed my heart until it shattered. My mind raced, trying to process the words, the sheer absurdity of the moment. “You’ve been hiding this from me,” I said, my voice trembling. “You’ve been hiding her from me. Hiding… your baby.” “I wasn’t hiding,” Marco said quickly.
“I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you since I had slept with her before we even knew each other, it was nine months ago.” “Too late for that,” I snapped, my voice cracking. Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “How long has she been here? How long have you been sneaking around behind my back?” “It’s not like that,” he insisted, stepping closer, his hands raised as if to comfort me. “I haven’t been sneaking around. She just came today, Lana. She’s due any day now, and she needed—” “She needed you?” I cut him off, laughing bitterly. “And what about me, Marco? What do I need?” Sofia looked away, her hand still cradling her stomach. I could see the discomfort in her expression, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel sympathy for her. “I can’t do this,” I said, stepping back. The room felt suffocating, the air heavy with tension. “I can’t…I can’t even look at you right now.” “Lana, please,” Marco said, desperation in his voice. “Don’t go. We can talk about this because Sofia was only a one-night stand, I don’t want to lose you, Lana. You’re the love of my life.” I glanced at the mother of his child, and she almost looked hurt, I assumed she liked him.
“How did you meet her? When?” I questioned. “I met her nine months ago in Italy. Sofia used to be my best friend’s younger sister before I moved to America. We met at a bar, we got drunk, and and we had intercourse, it was only a one time thing… and I didn’t expect her to end up pregnant…” Marco answered with a sigh. “How did you find out she was pregnant?” “Sofia asked my parents for my number since they are close, and she called me one day, telling me she was pregnant with my baby… I didn’t believe her at first until I did a paternity test two times.” I wanted to scream, to throw something, to shatter the perfect facade of our life together the way they had just shattered me. Instead, I laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and foreign.
“Well, congratulations, Marco. You’re going to be a father. Guess I’ll leave you two to it.” “Lana, wait,” Marco pleaded, his voice breaking. “I love you. I can’t lose you.” I turned to him, tears finally spilling over. “You already lost me, Marco. The moment you decided to keep this from me, you lost me.” I didn’t wait for his response. I walked out of the room, out of the house, since I didn’t want to see him. Marco Rossi, the perfect husband, he was expecting a child with another woman. Ten minutes ago, I was happy driving home from work, and now? I felt shattered.