Our wedding night was supposed to be perfect—the culmination of months of planning and years of love. But when Scott leaned in for a kiss, his hands already wandering, I gently pushed him away. “I’m exhausted,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Can we just talk for a while instead?”
Scott frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Talk? Now?”
I nodded, too tired to explain further. The day had been a whirlwind of emotions, and all I wanted was to curl up beside him and let the world fade away.
To his credit, Scott didn’t argue. He pressed a soft kiss to my cheek and murmured, “Of course, sweetheart. Get some rest.”
I drifted off almost immediately, lulled by the warmth of his body beside mine. But at midnight, I jolted awake to an unsettling sensation—the bed was shaking.
Blinking against the darkness, I rolled over—and froze.
Scott was kneeling on the mattress, cradling a baby in his arms.
“Scott?” My voice was hoarse with sleep and disbelief. “What the hell is going on?”
He flinched, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. Finally, he swallowed hard and whispered, “Everly, this is Ella. My niece. My stepsister, Maya… she’s gone. I only found out about Ella a few weeks ago.”
I sat up so fast my head spun. “A few weeks ago?” I repeated, my voice rising. “And you’re just telling me now? On our wedding night ?”
Scott’s grip on the baby tightened. “I was scared,” he admitted, refusing to meet my eyes. “I thought you’d leave if you knew.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “So you lied to me? You started our marriage with a secret baby ?”
Ella chose that moment to let out a tiny whimper, her little face scrunching up. Without thinking, I reached for her, and Scott handed her over with obvious relief.
As I held her, my anger warred with something else—an unexpected protectiveness. “What’s the plan here, Scott? Are we… adopting her?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Right now, I just need to take care of her.”
Too drained to argue, I nodded. But as I lay back down, Ella nestled between us, a sick feeling settled in my stomach.
The next few weeks passed in a haze of diaper changes and sleepless nights. Ella slotted into our lives as if she’d always been there, but the unanswered questions gnawed at me.
One evening, as I rocked Ella to sleep, I finally broached the subject. “Scott, if your family cut ties with Maya, why are you so determined to raise her baby?”
Scott stiffened, his back to me as he poured a glass of whiskey. “It’s not about Maya. It’s about Ella. She’s innocent in all this.”
“What about Ella’s father?” I pressed.
Scott’s glass hit the counter with a sharp clink . “Drop it, Everly.”
But I couldn’t.
A week later, while Scott was at work, I snooped through his study. Tucked in his desk drawer was a photo that made my blood run cold—Scott, grinning, his arm around a very pregnant woman. They looked happy .
When Scott came home that night, I was waiting, the photo clutched in my hand. “Explain this,” I demanded, my voice shaking.
Scott’s face paled. “Everly—”
“No more lies!” I shouted. “You told me you were estranged from Maya, but this photo says otherwise!”
For a long moment, Scott was silent. Then, with a heavy sigh, he collapsed onto the couch. “Fine. You’re right. That’s Maya. My family disowned her, but I… I still saw her. Helped her when I could.”
“Why keep it a secret?”
“Because I was terrified !” Scott burst out, his voice raw. “I thought if you knew the truth, you’d walk away. I wanted you to love Ella without getting tangled up in the mess of her past.”
The admission hung between us, heavy and suffocating.
“Scott,” I said slowly, “how can we build a marriage on lies?”
He had no answer.
The final straw came at the beach.
I’d taken Ella for a walk, needing space to think, when a stranger approached—a woman with sharp eyes and a knowing smirk. “Scott’s daughter?” she asked, nodding at Ella.
“His niece,” I corrected automatically, pulling Ella closer. “Who are you?”
The woman laughed, a cold, humorless sound. “His niece? She’s his spitting image.” Then, her expression darkened. “Run for your life,” she whispered before walking away.
I stood frozen, Ella’s weight in my arms suddenly feeling like a leaden truth.
That night, I confronted Scott. “Ella isn’t your niece, is she? She’s your daughter .”
Scott’s face crumpled. “Yes,” he whispered.
The admission shattered me. “How could you lie about your own child?”
“I thought if you loved her first, you’d stay,” he said desperately. “I was trying to protect us.”
But the damage was done.
I left the next morning, my bags packed, my heart broken. Scott begged me to think of Ella, but the words that spilled from my lips were cruel and final: “Ella is your daughter, Scott. Not mine.”
The months that followed were a blur of loneliness and regret. I threw myself into work, but Ella’s absence was a constant ache.
Then, one morning, Scott appeared at my door, Ella in his arms. Her giggle undid me.
As Scott apologized, promising honesty, I wavered. Could I trust him again?
But before I could decide, another twist emerged—a mysterious envelope, a photograph, and a name: Amanda. Scott’s ex-wife .
Her revelations were darker than I could have imagined: a cult, hidden rituals, and a warning—”Scott’s not who he seems.”
The final blow came in a hospital room, a doctor’s voice saying words I never expected: “You’re pregnant.”
Faced with an impossible choice, I played my final card.
“I terminated the pregnancy,” I lied to Scott, watching his face twist in rage.
His reaction confirmed everything. As he lunged at me, the police burst in, arresting him for crimes I hadn’t even known about.
Amanda’s hand found mine as we watched him being led away. “You’ll make a wonderful mother,” she murmured.
And then—
“Cut! Perfect!”
The director’s voice snapped me back to reality. Scott—my real-life husband and co-star—grinned at me, pulling me into a hug. “You were amazing!”
The “drama” had been our passion project, inspired by a real-life mix-up with Scott’s niece on our actual wedding night.
As the crew applauded, I laughed, the weight of the fictional lies lifting. Because in the end, our love story wasn’t about secrets—it was about the truth we chose to build together.