My Little Son Called a Saleswoman in a Store His Mommy – I Was Broken to Discover the Truth

The day began like any other Saturday morning — errands and grocery shopping with my husband, Rob, and our six-year-old son, Jamie. But I didn’t know that by the end, everything I understood about my life would be questioned.

“Mom,” Jamie called from the backseat while we were at the car wash. “Can I get some ice cream?”

“If you’re a good boy in the grocery store, then yes, we can get some ice cream on the way home,” my husband said.

Jamie’s face lit up and he beamed at his father.

“Are you sure about your costume for Halloween?” I asked him.

Halloween was a few weeks away and I was going to make his costume by hand, as I had always done. But this time around, Jamie had changed his mind many times before deciding on which costume he wanted.

We had discussed him being a wizard, a tree, a spider, the ocean, and finally, he seemed to like the idea of being a ghost.

“It’s cool, Mom,” he told me while I poured milk into his cereal one morning. “Like, I’d be a friendly ghost. Not a scary one.”

Up until this morning, my son seemed fine with being a ghost.

I just hoped that when we got to the fabric store, he would keep that in mind.

“Yes,” he said. “A ghost. Should I be called Casper?”

Rob chuckled beside me.

“Sure,” I said, laughing at my child.

After the car wash, we went grocery shopping with Jamie on his best behavior. I knew him — if he had been promised ice cream, he wouldn’t stop until he got it.

We walked up and down the aisles, Rob adding items to our cart as he spoke about meals he wanted me to cook.

“Grilled fish tonight, Carol,” he said. “That’s the way to go.”

Everything had gone along perfectly, especially Jamie who hummed to himself the entire time.

“One more stop, buddy,” I said to him. “And then it’s time for ice cream.”

We got to the fabric store and I wandered through the aisles, trying to decide on the best material for my son’s ghost costume.

Rob was nervously checking his phone, texting someone every few minutes. I chalked it up to the baseball game later that day — my husband had many flaws, and gambling on sports was one of them.

I picked up my phone, ready to check the measurements that I had noted down when I saw a saleswoman walking toward us.

Rob looked at her and turned pale — which was strange in itself. But then it got even stranger.

My son, seeing the woman at the end of our row of fabric, suddenly sprinted off toward her, his little legs carrying him faster than I’d have thought possible. He stopped in front of the woman, staring up at her with wide innocent eyes.

“Are you my mommy?” he asked earnestly.

The saleswoman’s face went pale, her eyes darting around, finally landing on a similarly shocked Rob.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

The woman looked from Rob to me, to Jamie.

“Come on,” Rob said, picking Jamie up.

We took Jamie to an ice cream shop, we had promised him after all.

The entire time we sat there, Rob refused to meet my eye.

My mind raced. I couldn’t understand what had happened. There was no way that Jamie would just run up to a stranger and ask a question of that nature. He knew something. Jamie had to have overheard or seen something. There was no other explanation for it.

Later that evening, after I tucked Jamie into bed and settled down for story time, I knew I had to clear my conscience. I needed him to tell me the truth.

“Sweetie, why did you ask that woman if she was your mommy?” I asked gently.

“I heard Dad say that on the phone, and her picture was there, too,” he replied simply.

“Dad said that the woman is your mommy?” I pressed, my voice barely a whisper.

I didn’t have a lot of time. Rob would come in to kiss Jamie goodnight soon.

My son nodded earnestly, his eyebrows raised — his own telltale sign of the truth.

I went to my bedroom and lay across the bed, trying to understand.

I waited for the weekend to pass, and on Monday after I dropped Jamie off at school, I went back to the store. Alone, this time. I had questions and they needed answers.

As I stepped into the store, I saw the woman restocking buttons in a little container.

“Are you having an affair with my husband?” I blurted out, my voice tense.

“What? No! Of course not!” she exclaimed, her reaction seeming genuine.

“My son asked if you were his mother on Saturday, when we were in the store,” I added, trying to piece together the fragments of our crumbling reality.

The same alarmed look crossed her face again. She glanced around hastily before grabbing my hand and leading me away.

“Not here,” she said. “Come.”

She pulled me into a storage room, her eyes scanning my face for signs of understanding.

“I’m not sure what’s going on,” she said. “My name is Kaylee. And I don’t know how this all happened. Or even how your son found out.”

“Found out what?” I demanded, the urgency in my voice even frightened me.

Kaylee flinched at my tone.

“Maybe I’m not the one who should be telling you this. Please, ask your husband,” she said, already turning away from me.

I went back home and tried to think of all the possibilities that could link Rob to Kaylee. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except the fact that my husband may have been cheating on me.

I tried to sit down in my study and work, but tears kept streaming down my face as I tried to make sense of it all.

When Rob came home, he had a pizza in hand and was ready to sit down with Jamie and talk about their respective days.

I let everything slide until my son was sound in bed.

“Rob,” I began, sitting on the couch. “We need to talk.”

My husband closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair.

I told him everything — my visit back to the fabric store and the conversation I had with Kaylee.

“What does it all mean, Rob?” I asked. “I need you to tell me everything. It’s one thing if you’re doing something that I don’t know about. But it’s another thing when Jamie knows something that I don’t.”

“What are you saying?” he asked.

“Tell me the truth. What does Kaylee have to do with our family?” I asked.

“Carol, I hoped that you would never have to know this,” he said slowly. “But do you remember the night you went into labor?”

Of course, I remembered. It had been the most difficult and traumatic night of my life. I just remember my water breaking, and then my blood pressure dropping rapidly. Everything happened so quickly, that the doctors asked Rob to choose whether he would save me or the life of our baby.

Afterward, when I held our baby in my arms, Rob told me he chose my life. But it turns out he didn’t need to because there we both were.

Or so I thought.

I didn’t know that as I sat in the living room that night, my entire world was about to change.

“When you were taken in,” Rob said. “I chose you, I told the doctors to save you first. I wasn’t proud of it, but I knew that I couldn’t do this without you.”

I nodded, I knew this — Rob had told me this many times before. Usually on Jamie’s birthday.