The Night I Learned I Wasn't the Only Son‑in‑Law

I reached out and knocked on the door. A young man answered. He wore an apron around his waist and carried himself like the man of the house.

A long-buried memory suddenly surfaced in my mind. I had seen him in a photo before.

Last Christmas, Natalia Lane had sent me a family photo. Besides my in-laws and her, there was this same man in it.

Natalia had told me that he was her distant cousin, Vincent Hale. She said his parents lived out of town, and since he had no one to spend Christmas with, he had come to her family's place to celebrate. I had even asked Natalia to take good care of him and get him a generous gift.

His tone was sharp, and he was openly dismissive of me. "What are you doing at our door?"

I was about to say something when the voice of my father-in-law, Arthur Lane, came from inside. "Vincent, who is it? Come inside and eat when you're done."

Vincent turned his head with a smile. "Alright, Dad. I'll be right there."

I opened my mouth but said nothing. Arthur's affectionate words to Vincent kept ringing in my ears.

Vincent shifted sideways to block the doorway, making it clear that he had no intention of letting me in.

I steadied myself, my voice coming out rough. "I'm Marcus Ellington. I'm here to see Natalia."

Vincent looked me up and down, and a flicker of panic crossed his face. "Oh, Marcus. Natalia isn't home."

Before I could respond, my mother-in-law, Liliana Carrington, called out cheerfully from inside, "Vincent, who are you talking to? Hurry in! The food is getting cold."

"Coming, Mom!" Vincent called back loudly.

Then he lowered his voice and warned, "Natalia isn't home. Come back another time."

After he finished speaking, he started closing the door.

I reached out to stop it from closing. "I'm Natalia's husband. Her legal husband."

Just then, a soft, indistinct child's voice came from inside. "Dad."

A little girl who looked about four years old ran out and wrapped her arms around Vincent's legs.

I looked at her, and my heart skipped a beat. Her face was a near match to Natalia's, from her nose and the corners of her mouth to her almond-shaped eyes, which looked the most like Natalia's.

My gaze shifted from the child's face to Vincent's face. His lips were pressed tight, and his expression held both a warning and a hint of panic.

"Whose child is this?" I asked.

He didn't answer and simply pushed the door closed with more force. I gripped the door frame tightly, my knuckles turning white.

Natalia and I had been married for five years. She had once told me that since we were both only children, we needed to stay close to our own parents. I had even felt guilty for not visiting my in-laws.

After taking my parents' advice, I rushed over here, hoping to surprise her. Yet what greeted me was this scene instead, a "home" that felt completely foreign to me.

Just then, footsteps echoed from the staircase.

"Marcus? Why are you here?" Natalia asked.

I slowly turned my head and saw Natalia standing at the bend of the staircase. She was holding grocery bags, looking like she had just come back from the supermarket.

Shock flashed across her face, followed by a brief flicker of panic. She looked at me, then at Vincent and the child inside the house, and the color slowly drained from her face.