My Secret Blown During the Teacher’s Visit

Im a stay-at-home dad.
I had no idea the teachers home visit was being livestreamed to the entire school community, a camera pinned discreetly to her collar.
The lens panned across our living room, a space where every available inch of wall was a shrine to the nation's sweetheart, Catherine Shawautographed photos, posters, and magazine covers.
The teacher and the top students mother exchanged a look of cold disdain. "So, you're a Catherine Shaw fan?"
"Catherine Shaw," I said, "is my wife."
The live chat immediately blew up.
No wonder their kid is failing. The dad's a delusional shut-in! And he dares to claim our goddess?
Just then, the front door opened. Catherine Shaw, known to the world for her elegant and cool demeanor, stepped inside. Her voice, however, was a warm, gentle melody meant only for me.
"Honey, do we have guests?"

1
A few months ago, our daughters school sent home a consent form for a livestreamed home visit series. The teacher assured us it was just a project comparing the home environments of a top-performing student and a struggling one.
I signed it without a second thought and promptly forgot about it.
A struggling student?
What did that have to do with my daughter? She wasn't a genius, but she was hardly at the bottom of her class.
I was in the middle of preparing dinner when the doorbell rang.
"Who is it?"
My daughter, Sophie, usually just burst in on her own.
I had just set a dish down when the front door swung open. Sophie skipped in and started changing into her slippers. Still in my apron, I swept her up into a big hug, lifting her high into the air.
"Sophie-bear! Did you have a good day at school? Eat lots of yummy food? Did you get your money's worth out of that school lunch?"
Because this was a mandated school viewing, the live chat was still sparse, filled mostly with skeptical parents who weren't expecting much from the underachievers family.
Ah, so this is the struggling student's home. Figures.
They call it positive reinforcement parenting. I call it not giving a damn about grades.
Sophie is so cute, though. Who cares if she can't read? She can just
Whoa, someone should check that last comment. Doesn't sound like they're joking.
I was so focused on my daughter that I didnt even notice the teacher and another family standing awkwardly in the doorway.
Sophies sweet, soft voice finally broke through my bubble. "Daddy, the teacher is here."
I hoisted her onto my hip and turned. A flustered-looking woman stood by the door, next to a stern-faced mother and her son.
"Ms. Evans, please, come in," I said calmly. "Don't worry about your shoes."
Ms. Evans hesitated, her eyes darting around the spacious, open-plan apartment before landing on the mother and son beside her.
"This is Sophie's classmate, Julian, who placed first on the last exam, and his mother, Diana."
I gave them a slight nod, still holding Sophie. "Nice to meet you. You're here for the"
Seriously? This guy doesn't even know to offer his kid's teacher a drink? What terrible manners.
No wonder the kids grades are in the toilet. The father has zero social skills.
Ms. Evans finally stepped inside, looking uncomfortable. "Mr uh, Sophies dad. Are you aware of Sophies score on the last exam?"
As if just remembering, I put Sophie down and gestured to the sofa. "Please, make yourselves comfortable! I've got something on the stove. My wife will be home any minute, and she gets a little grumpy if dinner isn't hot and ready when she walks in."

2
I disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Sophie alone with our guests.
Dianas eyes, filled with undisguised contempt, scanned the apartment. Her voice was sharp, dripping with condescension.
"So, a house husband. The woman is the breadwinner, and the man stays home. How pathetic."
Ms. Evans said nothing. She, too, was taken aback by the situation. It explained why Sophie always talked about her dad at school, but never her mom. Still, this apartment was in one of the most expensive school districts in the city. A place like this had to be worth millions. The dad was handsome enough; maybe he was a kept man, a trophy husband. She wondered about the age gap between him and Sophie's mother.
A sudden, nasty thought seemed to occur to Diana. "Wait a minute. Is he some boy toy she keeps on the side? Is the little girl illegitimate?" She made two loud, disgusted "tsk" sounds.
Ms. Evans quickly tried to change the subject. She scooped Sophie into her lap. "Sophie, all these pictures of Catherine Shaw is she your daddy's favorite actress?"
Sophie beamed, her smile pure sunshine. "She's my mommy!"
The live chat erupted in outrage.
What? They're even poisoning the kids mind?
What kind of values are they teaching her? Letting a child this young get obsessed with celebrity culture? Is that even legal?
I emerged from the kitchen carrying a platter of food just in time to hear Sophie's proud declaration. I smiled. "That's right, sweetie. She's your mommy."
To protect Catherine's career, wed always been careful about letting Sophie call her "mommy" in public. But here, in our own home, it should have been fine.
Ms. Evans looked at me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and disapproval. "What are you talking about? She's just a child. Saying things like that will have a terrible impact on her development. And it's incredibly unfair to her real mother. The woman is out there working hard to support this family, and you're not just erasing her contribution, you're stealing her very title."
I let out a soft laugh, guessing exactly what they were thinking. With a touch of theatrical flair, I said, "No, you don't understand. Catherine Shaw really is my wife."
The three of them stared at me. After a long pause, Ms. Evans asked hesitantly, "She isn't?"
It was clear they still didn't believe a word of it.
I looked at my daughter. "Sophie, can you entertain Ms. Evans and our guests for a minute? I'll be right back with our marriage certificate."

3
I went into our bedroom.
The marriage certificate was locked away in a safe, the combination being the date we officially tied the knot.
I never imagined that even with the document in my hands, they would still refuse to believe me.
I placed it on the coffee table.
Ms. Evanss eyes widened, and she quickly covered the certificate with her hand. "Mr uh, Sophie's dad. You know that forging official documents is a felony, right?"
Diana picked it up, scrutinizing the paper. "Wow, this is a pretty convincing fake. Looks almost identical to ours."
Even with physical proof, the online audience remained convinced I was a liar.
This guy is walking a thin line. He's certifiably insane.
LOL, this freeloader probably has no idea this is being broadcast to thousands of people.
Already called the cops. Can't wait to see him get arrested live on air.
You sure about that? What if you're the one filing a false report?
Come on. You really think our goddess would marry some deadbeat stay-at-home dad? That's the stuff of cheap romance novels!
I couldnt help but chuckle at Ms. Evans's accusation.
"It's real."
I grabbed a tablet lying on the end table and pulled up the official government services portal. "Here, let's take a look. The national database doesn't lie"
Before I could finish, the soft click of the front door was followed by the beep of the keypad. A warm, familiar voice, tinged with exhaustion, floated into the room.
"Honey, do we have guests?"
I set the tablet down, a wave of relief washing over me. "Well, the woman herself is here. I guess we don't need any more proof."
The moment she heard her mother's voice, Sophie shot up and sprinted towards the door. The pitter-patter of her little feet was followed by a squeal of "Mommy!" that could melt the coldest of hearts.
The voice was familiar to the viewers, but Catherines public persona was so cool and composed that no one recognized this soft, gentle tone.
Aww, her dad might be a lost cause, but that little girl is an absolute angel.
My goddess? Are you kidding me? Everyone knows she's the epitome of ice-cold elegance. That sweet, syrupy voice? No way!
Ugh, this loser. What gives him the right to even dream? He's not worthy of breathing the same air as her.
Ms. Evans's chest-mounted camera was still angled down, so the viewers could only see the lower half of Catherines face. But the palpable shock on the faces of the teacher and Diana told the whole story.
"You you two are"
Ms. Evans shot up from the sofa. In that instant, the camera jerked upwards, and the full picture came into view: Catherine Shaw, the nation's sweetheart, holding little Sophie in her arms.
The live chat froze for a split second, then exploded.
!!!!!!!!
WAIT. MY GODDESS IS MARRIED?!
NO, CATHERINE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! What do you see in him? Is it his poverty? His ugliness?
A tidal wave of comments flooded the screen. The world had gone mad. This was supposed to be a simple school documentary. Most of the parents watching were married themselves, but this revelation hit them like a freight train.
Simultaneously, on every social media platform, the hashtag #CatherineShawMarried shot to the top of the trending charts.
Millions of fans refused to believe the devastating news. But they followed the links, flooding the educational channel's livestream.
And there she was.
The stream's viewership skyrocketed, growing exponentially until it hit the server's maximum capacity.
The moment she saw Catherine, Ms. Evans panicked. She spoke into her earpiece, her voice trembling. "We have a situation. Should I cut the feed?"
Before anyone could answer, Catherine gently set Sophie down. She walked over to Ms. Evans and gave a slight shake of her head.
Then, she extended her hand. "Hello. I'm Sophie's mother, Catherine Shaw."

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