Why Does He Call You Mommy

It was Childrens Day, and for the first time, my wife, Camille, had actually agreed to help me pick up our daughter from school. Lucy had been begging for weeks, and Camille had finally relented, though she looked like shed rather be anywhere else.

As the teacher led Lucy out, she caught Camilles eye and paused, a flicker of confusion crossing her face.

Oh, Lucys mom! Youre finally here for her, the teacher said, her tone carrying a hint of casual judgment. Its funnywhenever youre picking up your son, youre here thirty minutes early, rain or shine. I was starting to wonder if Lucy was the middle child or something. You cant let the boy have all the attention, you know?

The umbrella slipped from Camilles hand. It hit the pavement with a dull thud, splashing muddy water all over my shins.

I stood there, holding Lucywho was shivering in my arms, her faded, second-hand school hoodie two sizes too smalland looked at my wife. My skin went cold. We only had one child. We only had Lucy.

Who the hell was this son?

Camilles body went rigid. Her voice came out thin and trembling. What are you talking about? I dont have a son!

The teacher frowned, pointing toward the Pre-K classroom next door. How could I be mistaken? Just this morning, you brought in a whole crate of luxury organic cherries for Parkers class to share. You were wearing that same trench coat.

Camilles face went a sickly shade of porcelain white. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin as she tried to shove me toward the car. Shes confused, Dan. Shes got the wrong person. Lets just go. Lucy needs to get home.

I reached out, my fingers steady as I tucked a stray, wet lock of hair behind her ear. My voice was a whisper. Whats the rush?

I turned back to the bewildered teacher and forced a polite, jagged smile.

Actually, would you mind showing me the way? I asked. Id love to see my wifes other life. I want to see what a perfect mother she is when Im not around.

The teacher led the way, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished linoleum floors.

Camille stood frozen at the entrance. I didnt wait for her. I adjusted Lucy in my arms; she felt so light, so fragile. Her sleeves were frayed at the cuffs, exposing her thin, pale wrists. She buried her face into the crook of my neck, her small frame still vibrating from the chill of the rain.

Come on, Camille, I called back, my voice devoid of emotion. Lets go.

Camille wiped the rain from her face, her lips quivering. Dan, please. This is a mistake. These teachers are overworked; they see hundreds of parents. Shes got me mixed up with some clients wife or something.

She reached for my sleeve again, but I pivoted, stepping out of her reach.

Then lets go clarify it, I said. Maybe your clients kid is named Parker, too.

The teacher looked back at us, her brow furrowed. Parkers mom? Hes right in here. Theyre just finishing their afternoon snack.

Camille swallowed hard. I could see the panic vibrating in her throat. She followed me, silent now, like a ghost haunting her own life.

The hallway felt endless, lined with bright finger paintings and construction-paper suns. The teacher stopped at a glass-paned door and pointed.

There. Thats Parker.

I looked through the glass. The room was warm and brightly lit. A group of children sat around a circular table, dressed in clothes that looked like they belonged in a catalog. In the center sat a little boy in a sharp, navy blue blazer, his hair perfectly coiffed with styling gel.

He was holding a cherrythe size of a golf ball, a deep, expensive crimsonand popping it into his mouth.

Lucy shifted in my arms. Daddy, she whispered, her voice small and envious. I want one too.

A sharp ache twisted in my chest. I rubbed her back gently. Camille, those cherries didnt you say you bought those for a high-end client?

Camille stayed in the shadows of the hallway, refusing to step into the light of the classroom. I did maybe the clients son goes here. Its a common name.

Right then, the boy looked up.

His eyes locked onto Camille through the glass. They lit up instantly. He scrambled off his chair, his little legs moving fast as he bolted toward the door.

Mommy!

The word was high, clear, and unmistakable. It sliced through the air like a razor.

Camille froze. Inside the room, a young teacher looked over and smiled. Oh, Parkers mom is here to pick him up! Good timing.

The boy threw himself at Camilles legs, wrapping his arms around her knees. Mommy, youre late! Uncle Jackson said you were taking us for pizza!

Camille instinctively tried to block the boy from my sight, her eyes darting around like a trapped animal. Its not Dan, I can explain.

She tried to peel the boy off her, her movements frantic and clumsy. She pushed a little too hard, and the boy lost his balance, landing hard on his bottom.

The silence of the hallway was shattered by his sudden, piercing wail.

Camille reached down to help him, then yanked her hand back as if he were made of hot coals.

From the far end of the hall, I heard the heavy thud of footsteps. A man in a tailored black blazer came charging toward us. He scooped the boy up, dusting off his expensive trousers with practiced, fatherly care.

What happened, buddy? You okay?

The man looked up. His face was groomed, handsome, and hauntingly familiar.

It was Jackson.

Camilles distant cousin. The one who had moved to the city three years ago looking for work. The one we had helped out with loans that were never repaid.

Jacksons eyes landed on Camille, and his expression softened into something intimate. Camille, why did you let him fall? Then, his gaze shifted to me. His face went ashen. He clutched the boy tighter, a forced, tight smile appearing on his lips.

Dan hey. I didnt know you were coming today.

Lucy cougheda wet, rattling sound. I held her closer, staring at the three of them. My wife in her designer coat, the man in his sharp suit, the boy in his miniature luxury wardrobe. And then there was me and my daughter, soaked to the bone, dressed in rags, looking like intruders in someone elses perfect life.

Camille started to babble, her voice rising in pitch.

I didn't let her finish. I turned on my heel and walked away.

Were going home. Now.

The car heater was blasting, but the air felt like ice.

Camille gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white. The windshield wipers beat a rhythmic, agonizing tempo against the glass. Lucy was buckled into her seat in the back, wrapped in my damp jacket, her small body still shaking.

Camille glanced in the rearview mirror, her brow knitting together in annoyance. Can you tell her to keep her feet off the leather? This car is a nightmare to detail.

I ignored her, using a napkin to pat the moisture from Lucys hair. She has a fever. I touched Lucys forehead; it was burning.

Camille sighed, an ugly, impatient sound. Kids get wet, Dan. Its a cold, not a tragedy. Shell sleep it off.

Parker didn't look like he had to sleep anything off, I said quietly. Whered he get that blazer, Camille? It looked custom.

Camille slammed on the brakes. The car jerked, and my head snapped forward, grazing the headrest. A chorus of horns erupted behind us.

She hit the gas again, her words coming out in a frantic blur. I told you, Jackson is a mess! He had a kid out of wedlock, the mother ran off, and Ive been helping him. The kid is starved for affection. He calls every woman Mommy. Its a psychological thing. Youre going to get mad at a toddler?

And the cherries?

The client didnt want them. I didnt want them to go to waste, so I gave them to Jackson. You know we have a mortgage, Dan. We cant afford to be eating fifty-dollar crates of fruit ourselves.

I looked out the window at the blurred streetlights. Lucys hoodie was so thin the fabric was almost translucent. Last month, Id told Camille that Lucy had outgrown everything and needed a new wardrobe.

Camille had told me: Shes growing too fast, Dan. Its a waste of money. My friend has a daughter a few years older; shes giving us a bag of hand-me-downs. Its fine.

So Lucy wore the hand-me-downs. While Parker wore tailored blazers and ate organic cherries.

We pulled into the parking garage. Camille killed the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt.

Look, stop the silent treatment. Jacksons had it rough, and Im just being a good person. Ill make dinner tonight, okay? Your favorite. Lets just move past this.

She reached into the back to touch Lucy. Lucy shrank away, pressing herself into the corner of the car seat.

Camilles hand hovered in the air, awkward and cold, before she pulled it back. Fine. Be that way. Shes always been more yours than mine anyway.

Inside the house, Camille disappeared into the kitchen. I took Lucy to the living room and checked her temperature. 101.3.

We were out of childrens Tylenol.

I went into the home office, hoping to find the first-aid kit. Camille usually kept the office locked"company secrets," she said. But in her haste today, the door was slightly ajar.

I started rummaging through the desk drawers. No medicine. But my fingers brushed against something hard and plastic.

I pulled it out.

It was a Disney World VIP Gold Pass.

The photo on the back showed three people: Jackson, Parker, and a beaming Camille. They were leaning into each other, the Cinderella Castle sparkling behind them.

Tucked behind the card was a receipt from the same trip. The date was last Saturday.

Lucys birthday.

Camille had told me she had an emergency project at the firm. Lucy had waited until midnight for her mother to come home, eventually falling asleep at the kitchen table next to a cold piece of toast.

I looked at the itemized list on the receipt.

Prince Charming Costume: $450.

Custom Leather Shoes: $210.

Luxury Seafood Buffet for 3: $380.

Total: $2,140.

My hands began to shake.

That night, Camille had come home after 1:00 AM. She had brought a tiny, smashed cupcake she said shed bought at a 7-Eleven. She had hugged me, looking exhausted, and whispered, The firm is struggling, honey. Bonuses are frozen. We have to pinch every penny for Lucys future. Well celebrate her birthday properly when things get better.

And I had believed her. I had taken the extra coding freelance work I did at night and funneled every cent into her account, while I wore the same three t-shirts for four years.

The office door swung open. Camille stood there, still wearing her apron, a spatula in her hand. Her face transformed when she saw what I was holding.

Who gave you permission to go through my things? She lunged for the card and the receipt, nearly poking me in the eye with the spatula.

She crumpled the paper into a ball and shoved the card into her pocket. It was for work! The clients kid wanted to go to Disney, and I had to host. Its networking, Dan! Its how the world works!

I looked at her, and for the first time, I didn't see my wife. I saw a stranger.

Was Lucys birthday networking, Camille?

What was I supposed to do? If I dont work, we dont have a house! We don't have anything! she shrieked. I wouldn't have to work so hard if you weren't such a failure!

From the living room, Lucy let out a violent, hacking cough.

I didn't argue. I didn't yell. I just walked past her.

Lucys face was flushed a deep, angry red. She was curled on the sofa, gasping for air. Daddy it hurts

I scooped her up. Were going to the ER.

Camille followed me to the door. The ER? Are you insane? Do you know what the co-pay is for an after-hours visit? Just give her some herbal tea and put her to bed. Hospitals are scams; theyll charge us five hundred bucks for a bandage.

I ignored her, wrapping Lucy in a thick blanket.

Camille blocked the door. Dan, stop being so dramatic. A fever isn't going to kill her. When I was a kid, I had a 104 fever and I just slept it off. Stop wasting our money.

Get out of my way.

My voice was so cold it seemed to startle her. She stepped aside, muttering under her breath about how "soft" I was. She didn't put on her shoes. She didn't grab her keys. She wasn't coming.

I didn't expect her to.

I carried my forty-pound daughter down the stairs, out into the rain, and waited twenty minutes for an Uber. By the time we reached the hospital, I was soaked through. Lucy was delirious, whispering for her mother.

My tears mixed with the rain. They tasted like salt and regret.

At the hospital, the diagnosis was quick: acute pneumonia. She needed an IV and overnight observation.

I ran back and forthregistration, pharmacy, blood work. When the nurse went to start the IV, Lucy sobbed, reaching out into the empty air. Mommy I want Mommy

The nurse looked at me, her eyes filled with pity. Where is the mother, dear?

I looked at the floor. Shes dead.

By 3:00 AM, the fever had finally started to break. Lucy was asleep in the pediatric ward. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was a bank alert.

[Transaction Alert: $5,200.00 spent at Riverside Private Pediatric Hospital.]

The account was in my name, but Camille had the secondary card. That was Lucys college fund.

I called her immediately. It rang for a long time before she picked up. Her voice was a hushed whisper, the background quietthe sound of a private hallway.

What? Its the middle of the night.

Where are you?

At home, sleeping. Obviously.

Then explain the five-thousand-dollar charge at the private hospital across town.

There was a pause. A long, heavy silence.

Oh that. I I bought a premium insurance rider for Lucy. You know, since shes so sick. Its a smart investment.

At a private hospital? At 3:00 in the morning?

Camilles voice turned sharp and defensive. Ugh, fine! Jacksons kid got sick too. He didn't have the deposit for the private wing, so I lent it to him. Hell pay me back tomorrow. God, why are you so small-minded?

Click.

The line went dead.

Lent it to him? Jackson didn't have a job. He hadn't had a job in three years.

I opened a burner Instagram account Id made months ago to keep tabs on her "work" trips. I checked her "Close Friends" story.

Posted five minutes ago: A photo of a small hand with an IV, but the room was a luxury suite with a view of the city skyline.

The caption: [My brave little soldier. Mommy will never leave your side.]