The Secret

“The baby isn’t yours,” Sarah-Tempest said to her husband two weeks after announcing her pregnancy. 

Rekthorne’s face blanched. She stopped taking the pill months ago, and they had diligently worked to get her pregnant. They both stopped all alcohol consumption. She started taking extra calcium and other supplements she believed would help a baby develop without problems. 

They tracked her body temperature, waiting for the telltale jump up one degree for her to be fertile, and they made love twice a day. 

In the meantime, the prospective parents began preparing for a baby in the house. Furniture, diapers, snuggle clothes, burp cloths, changing table, nursery glider, and all the gadgets they would need to care for the new arrival. They discussed baby names and things they wanted to teach the child.

She became pregnant. 

Two weeks ago, when Sarah-Tempest told Rekthorne, they jubilantly called their friends and family and went out to dinner to celebrate. So far from hiding the baby bump until she showed, they were proud of it and wanted everyone to know. 

His wife’s confession grabbed Rek like unseen arms encircling his chest so hard he couldn’t breathe. “How can this happen?” He gasped in whispering disbelief, more to himself than to his wife.

Her eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Do you want the intimate details?”

“No. Not really. I don’t know what to say. I’m flabbergasted. Speechless.” Rekthorne Ross Wrathmore sat back and took a deep breath.

Sarah-Tempest moved closer and took his hand as she opened her eyes. “Rek, I know I failed. No excuses. What I did was unacceptable and inexcusable. I am ashamed. As hard as it may be for you to believe, I never meant to hurt you. You have my word that it will never happen again.”

“What are we going to do?” he mumbled more to himself than to her. “I pride myself for being unemotional and rational when entangled in a quagmire. Let me think about this.”

At their cocktail time before dinner, He said, “I called our lawyer, Figgs Cocktoaster.” His voice was calm and without emotion. Sarah-Tempest always used the full hyphenated name, raised a weighty head. “Figgs says he has professionally faced this situation before. It seems you had a couple of options, and we still have some.”

She leaned toward him, her voice gravel, “Is one of them divorce?”

Rek ignored her question. “Option One. You could have said nothing to me or anyone else, had the baby and kept the whole story to yourself—a secret. I would be none the wiser. And, not knowing any better, I would raise the child believing it to be my own. But, unfortunately, you didn’t choose this option, and it’s too late now.

“Dear Aketa prints similar situations from time to time. I shake my head and wonder how anyone could get into such a mess. I thought Aketa made up her crazy requests for advice. But, Figgs tells me that up to 1/3 of all pregnancies aren’t by the husband. Those women kept their secrets, and the husbands never knew.”

Rekthorne paused ten seconds to make sure Sarah-Tempest was grasping his words. Indeed, he wished she had already selected this option.

“Option Two,” Rek continued, “you could have said nothing to me and gotten your paramour to pay for an abortion.” She jumped as if startled. “Not a complete secret, but I doubt he would reveal the affair. Again, I would have been none the wiser, and life would go on as usual. But, you didn’t choose this option either.”

Rek poured himself another Scotch on the rocks and returned to the table. Sarah-Tempest remained silent. 

“Option Three. You could have taken a three-day weekend with your mother and gotten the abortion. Your mother would’ve paid for it and kept the secret. Oh, maybe she wouldn’t keep the secret forever. After all, she dislikes me and would probably tell me in twenty years. More likely, the paramour would’ve treated you and your mother to a nice medical vacation to avoid a scandal. Then, again, I would be none the wiser, and we would go on trying to conceive another baby. But, you didn’t choose this option either.”

Sarah-Tempest dropped her head.

“Option Four. You could have told the secret paramour that he knocked you up, divorced me, married him, and had the baby or an abortion. In retrospect, this would have been an excellent option. As Shakespeare would put it, I would learn I was a cuckold, and our relationship would end. But, alas, you didn’t choose this option either. At least not yet.”

Rek took a sip and savored the flavor as if it was a fine liqueur in a snifter, not a simple Scotch on the rocks. Sarah-Tempest cocked her head and bore the hint of a frown tensing one cheek.

“So, tell me, do you have some hope of working a deal to stay married?

Sarah-Tempest sat up, fidgeting, holding her glass of ginger ale with a shaking hand. “I’m going to dodge the question for the moment. When we discussed whether I should get pregnant, we discussed all the pros and cons. We even talked about adopting and how having an adopted child from an infant would be the same as having our own, but without the regimen and trauma of the gestation and birth.”

“Un huh,” Rek grunted and took a hit of Scotch.

“I remember you saying something to the effect that adopting is somewhat the same as getting a dog from the Humane Society. The parentage doesn’t matter. What matters is the dog. And, that was the same for adopting a child: the parentage did not matter, what mattered was the child.”

“Yes,” Rek said, “I remember.”

Sarah-Tempest edged closer to him, took his hand and spoke softly. “Rek, I know I failed you. No excuses. You mean the world to me. I feel ashamed and guilty. Words are not adequate, but I’m deeply and profoundly sorry for what I did. I’ll never, never, do that again. I promise with all my heart. We wanted two children. This could be our first.”

Rek’s rigid posture slackened. He stared at her without blinking. His spreading fingers wiped his face. “I find that hard to believe, but for some reason I believe you. Probably because I want to.” He squeezed her hand.

“I promised,” Rekthorne began, “to stand by you for better or worse. Naturally, I thought the ‘for better’ part meant we’d earn a good living, the kids would be healthy and intelligent, our loving feelings would go until death, and we would achieve our major life goals. I viewed it as a lifelong promise and understood some days would be worse than others. I sure as hell did not imagine something this bad.”

Rek took another hit of Scotch and put the glass down.

“I classify this under the ‘worse’ column. It would be easy to treat you with vile displeasure because this is all your fault. Indeed, I am fighting to continue to honor the ‘for worse’ part of my commitment. And, at the same time, I don’t want this sordid affair to paint a bleak picture of our marriage. We had many ‘better’ times together. We like many of the same foods, the same worldview philosophy, and our relationship matured throughout the years.”

He went to the bar and this time poured a double into the glass with no ice and took half of it in one swallow. Sarah-Tempest sat quietly. Turning, he said, “So, here’s the deal I offer.”

Her head raised from bowed and she sat upright as if at attention.

“We have the baby, but nobody else knows who supplied the sperm. That’s a secret. I’ll be the father to the entire world, including friends and family. So never mention the subject again. Period.”

Sarah-Tempest looked at Rek with wide eyes releasing a stream of tears. “I can do that. And we’ll have another baby. Yours. I love you. I promise.”

The couple continued as they had before the great revelation. Rek became Sarah-Tempest’s Lamaze coach and was present at the child's birth. A girl. They named her Wennerette Ora Wrathmore.

Eleven months later, Sarah-Tempest announced she was pregnant with the second of the two children they planned. She gave birth to a boy, Hallvard Odin Wrathmore, nineteen months after the first child.  

About a year later, their pediatrician said she suspected a genetic problem with Wennerette. So the doc wanted to do DNA tests on all four family members, just to be safe. 

Rek said, “Sarah-Tempest and I need to talk about this privately.” The doctor left the room. Rek turned to Sarah-Tempest. “What do we do when the truth of parentage comes out? It’ll be public record.”

“No, it won’t,” she said, “physician-patient confidentiality. Besides, we can’t just sit by and see a genetic problem in a child grow because of our problems.”

“For all the hoopla about privacy, there’s no physician-patient confidentiality. The records are always available by subpoena, hacking, or anyone else. But you’re right. We can’t let Wenny suffer if it’s something we can fix.” So they consented to the DNA tests.

Two weeks later, the couple had a consultation with the good doctor. “Before I continue,” the doc said, “I want to confirm that both you understand my patients are the children and you, as parents, are not patients. You are clients.”

The parents acknowledged.

“Therefore, my obligation is to the children, not to you. The physician-patient privilege extends from me to them and not from me to you. Do you understand?”

They both said yes. 

“I say this because what I am about to tell you may be far more than mildly disturbing.”

“Yes,” Rek said, “if you’re going to tell us that I’m not Wennerette’s biological father, we know that.”

“I’m glad you’re so open-minded. It’s a huge relief to me. But, the tests show you are Wennerette’s father.” Rek and Sarah-Tempest looked at each other and their mouths dropped. The doctor sighed, “But you aren’t Hallvard’s.”