At Thanksgiving Dinner, My Daughter Stood up and Shouted, ‘And Where’s the Woman Dad Keeps in Our Shed?’

The room fell completely silent. My parents and in-laws exchanged apprehensive stares, and Peter’s actions stopped in mid-air.

Despite the tightness in my chest, I asked, “Who, sweetie?”

“The woman Dad keeps hidden in our shed, mummy!” She blurted out, her innocent expression contorted with confusion.

Emma’s look was angry, her small hands planted on her hips and her gaze fixated on her father. “The woman who lives in the shed! I saw her with my OWN eyes! Dad goes to see her when you’re out shopping or at work.”

I dropped the knife I was holding, and a murmur echoed over the table as everyone turned to look at Peter. He returned my gaze before turning to Emma, absolutely speechless.

“Emma,” I replied softly, trying to smile for the benefit of everyone at the table, “come I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“No, Mom! She’s there right now! I saw her in the shed last week. Come on, let’s go to the shed and bring her here.”

After a few tense moments, Peter nodded. “Emily… I think… we should talk.”

As he left the table, he motioned for me to follow. My heart was in my throat as I glanced back at the table, trying to comfort our family with a fake grin before following Peter out the backdoor.

For illustration purposes only
We silently crossed the yard, each step nearer the shed filled with dread. Peter came to a halt just outside the door, paused, and looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite recognize.

“I’m sorry, Emily,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean for it to come out this way.”

Inside, a woman snuggled in the faint light. She was a tired-looking woman in her fifties, clothed in faded clothes, her hair streaked with gray.

I looked at Peter, sh0cked. “Who… who is she?”

My husband’s face twisted with remorse, and his gaze fell to the ground. “Emily, this is Janet. She’s… she’s my biological mother.”