My name is Marilyn.
My husband, Bruce, and I were delighted about our daughter Joyce’s 7th birthday.
We wanted to create a memorable day for everyone.
I spent a lot of time organizing the party, which we were holding in our backyard. I ordered a beautiful pink cake with seven candles and covered every available space with celebratory balloons.
Joyce, my darling little daughter who always lights up any room, had been strangely quiet all afternoon.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Don’t you want to play with your friends?”
“Are you nervous about all the people?” I asked. “It’s okay to feel a little shy.”
“I’m fine, Mommy,” she mumbled.
My husband, Bruce, appeared with his usual easygoing grin. “Pumpkin, come help me get a game of tag going,” he urged, smacking his hands together. “We need the birthday girl to truly have fun!”
Both sets of grandparents were present. My mother fussed over the food in the kitchen, while Harold, Bruce’s father, wanted to speak with me. The others also required attention. In summary, it was a bit hectic.
Her buddies had just concluded a game of tag and were laughing, but she was once again somber. The game had failed to boost her spirits, so I had an idea.
“Joyce, let’s open some presents!” I called out, waving her over.
The visitors crowded around, their discussions diminishing as she began to unwrap the first box.
My parents gave me a playhouse, complete with miniature furniture. “Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa,” she whispered before placing it aside.
Her reaction to each present was courteous, quiet, and almost mechanical.
When she finished, I clasped my hands together and attempted to seem cheerful. “Alright, everyone, time for cake!”
Joyce climbed into a chair at the head of the table and grinned at the seven candles flickering as if this was all she ever wanted in the first place.
My heart relaxed slightly when others began singing “Happy Birthday.”
My daughter blew out her candles, and before everyone could cheer, she said loudly, “I wish Dad never leaves me for his new baby.”
I realized his smile had vanished, and his face had turned pale. But my focus returned to my daughter, who dug into her pocket and offered me something.
“I found this in Dad’s briefcase,” she said, biting her lip.
My hands were curled around a little, pink pacifier with a message attached to it. “You’ll become a dad soon,” it stated in excellent handwriting.
He stared at me, then at Joyce, and finally back to me. “It’s not what you think,” he eventually murmured.
I approached her side and drew her into an embrace. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I said to her firmly, stroking her hair. “Daddy’s not leaving us. We’re going to figure this out, okay?”
Bruce and I crept inside our room.
“I didn’t know Joyce had found that,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t want anyone to find it.”
He hesitated once. “The pacifier belonged to an employee at work,” he began. “A woman named Claire. She pa:ssed away recently, and she was pregnant, it seems.”
“Oh, wow. But why do you have this?”
“When she d.i.e.d, I had to go through her desk and fill a box with her things. I found the pacifier and the note. It was meant for her husband, I assume,” he confessed, rubbing his neck. “I guess she was going to surprise him with the news. But when I saw it, I didn’t know what to do. He came in later that day to pick up the box. Honey, he was so devastated. I just couldn’t bring myself to give it to him, to make everything worse. So… I kept it.”
“I didn’t want you to misunderstand. I didn’t want you to think there was something inappropriate going on between Claire and me. I thought I could figure out the right time to give it to him, but it’s been days, and I feel so bad about taking it.”
***
“Sweetheart, Daddy’s not going anywhere,” I said softly, after cornering my daughter in the backyard for a second.
“He was just trying to help someone, but he made a mistake. We’re going to be okay.”
“No, kiddo,” Bruce said, emphasizing each word. “There’s no other baby, and I shouldn’t have kept the pacifier in my briefcase. I’m going to return it soon.”
Bruce apologized, and even his father scolded him for taking the pacifier.
“Son, that man needs to know about this, even if it hurts him more,” Harold insisted, frowning. “It’s simply not your secret to keep.”
I felt horrible for the family who had lost their future, and I knew he blamed himself for perhaps making matters worse. So, later that night, I hugged him tenderly, telling him everything would be fine if he returned the pacifier and apologized.
