All The Unsaid

"Charles, what did you just say?"

I stared in disbelief at the innocent face of Charles Smith, my son, struggling to accept the words I thought I had heard.

"Dad, I didn't say anything. You must've been hearing things," Charles replied, his eyes darting nervously.

However, I knew better. A child's fleeting emotions could not easily slip past a parent.

Just as I convinced myself it was a mistake, I heard his thoughts again, clear as day.

'Dad's such a pain. He's always on my case, even on my birthday. Mr. Shaw's way cooler. He gets me whatever I want.'

Charles's lips had not moved, not even a twitch, and that was when it hit me.

I could read minds.

That day was supposed to be a joyous occasion, Charles's tenth birthday.

I had gone all out, preparing his favorite dishes and ordering a massive cake, only to be met with that silent rebuke.

I racked my brain for any clue about that 'Mr. Shaw'.

Then, it clicked. Yvette Smith, my wife, had recently hired a secretary named Patrick Shaw.

Yvette had not come home yet, claiming she was tied up with work and would be late.

However, Charles's thoughts cast a shadow of doubt over her so-called overtime.

Keeping my face calm, I gently broke the news to Charles.

"Buddy, Mom might have to work late tonight, so she might not make it back for your birthday."

I watched his reaction closely, and there it was. A flicker of scorn in his eyes.

'Dad's clueless. Mom's definitely with Mr. Shaw, but he made me swear to keep their secret. I can't spill the beans to Dad, the poor guy.'

My son's thoughts sent a chill through my heart.

To think my wife, whom I had shared my life with for over a decade, could betray me. Even my own son did not show an ounce of respect for me.

I spent years as a stay-at-home dad, letting my wife chase her career dreams, while I cooked and cleaned. It felt like I was preparing someone else's happily ever after.

A bitter laugh bubbled up inside me.

Did fate give me the power to read minds as a gift or as a cruel joke?

Over the past couple of years, Yvette had come home less and less. We were practically living separate lives.

Every time I tried to get close, she would brush me off, saying she was too 'tired' from work.

Then, it made sense. Since she had been enjoying herself outside, of course she was not in the mood with me at home.

Staring at my son's peaceful sleeping face, a daring thought crossed my mind. 'Could he even be mine?'

Lost in my thoughts, I was snapped back to reality by the sound at the door. Yvette came home early, a rare occurrence.