We were supposed to have a quiet weekend in the country—just the two of us, before the baby arrived. He said he wanted to show me where he grew up, where he “became the man I fell in love with.” It sounded perfect.
And at first, it was.
In the pasture, he pulled me close, kissed my cheek, and smiled as the cows grazed nearby. For a moment, I thought, this is it—this is everything. But something about the way he looked at me felt distant. Like his thoughts were elsewhere.
When I asked him what his favorite place on the farm was, he said it was a spot where he could forget everything and just be himself. His voice was calm, but there was something guarded in it—like he wasn’t telling me the whole story.Still, I tried to focus on the good. The baby, our future, the quiet joy of building a life together.But as we drove up the long gravel driveway, unease crept in. The house was grander than I expected, and there were a lot more people than I’d been told to expect. Music played, laughter echoed, and smoke from the barbecue filled the air.He squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s just a small family gathering. Everyone’s excited to meet you.”
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