Eavesdropping on my wife’s call with her best friend, I discovered a horrifying secret
Eavesdropping on my wife’s call with her best friend, I discovered a horrifying secret. The world around me seemed to collapse. My ears were ringing, all sounds disappeared, only Lani’s words echoed.

For three days now, I have been living like a sleepwalker in my own house in Quezon City. The house that I used to be proud of as a home filled with laughter, is now like a theater stage where only I know the naked, painful truth behind the curtain of happiness. Everything collapsed, starting from one fateful afternoon, when I accidentally heard my wife’s phone call.

My wife, Lani, is a gentle, thoughtful woman. We’d been together for 10 years, and had a 5-year-old son, Basti, who was cute and smart. I’d always believed I was the luckiest man in the world. Our love had never shown any signs of cracks—at least, that’s what I thought.

That afternoon, I came home earlier than usual, planning to surprise both mother and son. As I pushed open the door, I heard Lani on the phone in the bedroom, her voice unusually tense and urgent. She was talking to Maya, her childhood best friend. Curious, I stopped, held my breath, and listened—not intentionally eavesdropping, just a husband’s instinct telling me something was wrong.

“You’re right, I can’t hide it forever. I’ve been living in fear for the past 5 years.” Lani’s voice trembled, helpless.

My heart was pounding. “Hide it? Fear?” What could have caused my usually calm wife to become like this? I pressed myself against the door, trying to hear better. Maya was probably trying to reassure me. But then Lani burst into tears, sobbing sobs tearing at my heart:
“But what should I do, Maya? He loves Basti more than life itself. Every time he looks at the child, that look of pride and happiness is like a thousand knives stabbing my heart. I am a bad mother, a bad wife…”

I was stunned. It was about Basti? What was wrong with my son? A series of terrible hypotheses ran through my mind—but none of them prepared me for the horrifying words that came next:

“What should I do… when Basti… Basti is not his real son?”…
My legs went weak. I held onto the wall to keep from collapsing. Was that my wife? Was that the truth about the family I loved so much? I stepped back, my steps as lifeless as a shadow, then rushed out of the house, driving recklessly through the crowded streets of EDSA. The wind was bitter, but it was nothing compared to the pain that was tearing at my heart. Basti—the child I cherished, whose smile I once thought was identical to mine, the child I read bedtime stories to every night—was not my blood.

From that day on, I became an actor. I still came home, still hugged my wife, still played with my son. But behind the forced smile was a heart that was broken into a hundred pieces. I looked at him, trying to find some trace of myself in his face—hopelessly. His smile, his eyes, everything I once thought was a copy of myself was now unfamiliar. The unconditional love I had for my son was mixed with a bitter doubt.

What should I do? Face my wife and then destroy this family, hurt an innocent child? Or continue to bury the secret, live in a lie and suffer for the rest of my life? I love him—really love him. For the past five years, that love has been real. But this cruel truth is like a monster, gnawing at my soul every day, turning me from a happy husband and father into a pitiful person with a secret that I can’t tell anyone.

The Manila night falls quickly. I stand silently on the balcony, watching the distant lights twinkle, listening to the sound of jeepneys echoing from the street below. In the room, Lani is rocking Basti to sleep. I know, sooner or later, we have to face it. Not only to find the truth, but to protect an innocent child—the child I have called “son” for the past five years and perhaps, no matter what DNA says, my heart will still call him that.