The morning of Lucas’s first day of first grade, I woke before dawn. The house was still, save for the low hum of the fridge. I ironed his crisp new shirt, the way my mother used to do for me, determined to make this day perfect.
It should have been a milestone I shared with my husband, Travis. But our marriage hadn’t felt like a partnership in a long time.
I found him on the couch, ESPN highlights flickering across his face, an empty beer can rolling under the coffee table.
“Travis, wake up. It’s a big day,” I whispered.
He grunted and waved me off. Lucas had been asking for weeks if Daddy would be there, and I’d promised him he would. I wasn’t ready to admit I’d lied.
By the time we left for school, Travis was still in bed. “I’ll meet you there,” he muttered, rolling over. My gut told me otherwise.
At school, Lucas clutched my hand, his backpack bouncing. I kissed his cheek, whispered, “You’re going to do great,” and turned to leave—just as Travis arrived. Disheveled. Sunglasses. Coffee in one hand, phone in the other.
I stepped out but realized I’d left Lucas’s water bottle in the cubby. When I returned, I froze.
“Jamie, sweetheart, can you help me with these papers?” the teacher asked.
Lucas smiled and went to her without hesitation.
Jamie?
Travis stood there too, calm, like this wasn’t strange at all. Lucas didn’t correct her.
Later that day, instead of celebrating, Travis told Lucas they were going to “Grandma’s” for a father-son trip. But when they drove off, my instincts screamed. I called a cab and told the driver to follow them.
Thirty minutes later, they pulled into a house I’d never seen—a house with a pool and a swing set. Lucas ran to the water like he’d been there before.
And then she stepped out. Barefoot, blonde, a glass in hand. Travis kissed her like it was second nature.
It was Jenna. Lucas’s teacher. The one who called him Jamie.
I confronted them, my voice shaking, dirt clinging to my jeans from where I’d fallen trying to get closer. Lucas, confused, tugged my hand.
“Daddy told me to pretend I was someone else,” he said softly. “He said it would make Jenna happy. I got candy after.”
Jenna’s son—Jamie—was gone. Travis had let her pretend mine was hers.
That night, I told his mother everything. I wasn’t taking Lucas from his grandmother, but Travis had lost me. I packed his clothes and shut the door on the life he’d been faking.
Because while Travis built lies, I was reclaiming the truth.
No one would ever call my son by another name again.