Four Children Behind My Ex-Wife

I hadn’t seen my ex-wife in almost six years when I saw her on television with four five-year-old children standing behind her.

I was halfway through a cup of coffee in my office when Jennifer Walsh appeared on the local morning news. The segment was about Bright Start Childcare, the company she’d apparently built from one small center into eighteen locations across Ohio.

I almost changed the channel.

Then the camera widened.

Four children came running into the frame behind her.

Two boys. Two girls.

One of the boys had my ears.

The other had the same crooked front tooth I’d had until I was twelve. One of the girls had Jennifer’s dark hair, but when she turned toward the camera, I saw the small dent in her chin that every man in my father’s family had.

My coffee cup slipped out of my hand and hit the carpet.

The host laughed as the children crowded around Jennifer.

“And these are the famous four?”

Jennifer smiled.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

The children protested at once.

The host asked their names.

“Tyler, Adam, Katie, and Megan.”

Then came the question that made me reach for the remote and turn the volume up.

“They’re five now, right?”

Jennifer hesitated for maybe half a second.

“Five.”

I stared at the television.

Five.

Jennifer and I had been divorced for five years and eight months.

I grabbed my phone and opened the calculator even though I didn’t need one.

For almost three years of our marriage, we’d tried to have a baby.

Doctor visits. Tests. Calendars on the refrigerator. Medication in the bathroom cabinet. Jennifer crying once in a hospital parking garage because another appointment had ended with another doctor telling us to keep trying.

My mother had an explanation for all of it.

Jennifer.

It was always Jennifer.

And eventually, I had believed her.

Now four five-year-olds were standing behind my ex-wife on television.

And one of them smiled exactly like my father.

The Question Jennifer Wouldn’t Answer

I called the station first.

They wouldn’t give me Jennifer’s personal information, but Bright Start had a public office number. I called it three times before someone answered.

“Bright Start Childcare, this is Rachel.”

“I need to speak to Jennifer Walsh.”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

I looked at the frozen television screen.

“Kevin Morris.”

There was a pause.

Not a normal receptionist pause.

“One moment.”

I waited nearly four minutes.

Jennifer answered without saying hello.

“Why are you calling?”

Her voice sounded almost exactly the same.

“I saw the interview.”

Silence.

“Jennifer, how old are your children?”

“You already heard the answer.”

“Are they mine?”

Another silence.

I stood up from my desk.

“Jennifer.”

“I’m at work.”

“Are those four children mine?”

She exhaled slowly.

“If you want to talk, you can come to my office at five-thirty. Do not come to my house. Do not go near the children’s school. And don’t bring your mother.”

The line went dead.

At 5:22, I was sitting in the parking lot outside a converted brick building on the north side of Columbus.

Jennifer came out eight minutes later carrying a canvas tote and a stainless-steel water bottle. She looked older, obviously, but not dramatically different. Her hair was shorter. She wore sneakers instead of the heels she’d worn when we were married.

She stopped when she saw me.

I got out.

“Are they mine?”

She tightened her hand around the strap of her bag.

“You haven’t changed much.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make me wait for an answer.”

She looked toward the building behind her.

“I waited too.”

That shut me up.

Jennifer unlocked her car but didn’t get inside.

“I called your office twice.”

I frowned.

“When?”

“After I found out I was pregnant.”

“You never called me.”

Her expression didn’t change.

“I called twice.”

“I would’ve remembered that.”

“I’m sure you would have.”

She reached into her tote, pulled out her keys, and separated one key from the others with her thumb.

“Then I went to your mother’s house.”

I stared at her.

“Why?”

“Because you weren’t answering me.”

“I never got a call.”

“I know.”

Jennifer finally looked directly at me.

“I brought an envelope. There was a letter inside and an ultrasound picture. Your mother took it from my hand.”

My mouth went dry.

“My mother?”

“She knew exactly who it was for.”

“What did she say?”

Jennifer looked down at her keys.

“She said she’d make sure you got it.”

I reached for my phone.

Jennifer shook her head.

“Don’t call her in front of me.”

“I need to know what happened.”

“So did I, Kevin.”

She opened her car door.

I put my phone down.

“You still haven’t answered me.”

She paused.

“No. I haven’t.”

“Why?”

Jennifer’s eyes settled on mine.

“Because before you get to ask what I kept from you, you need to find out what was kept from both of us.”

Then she got into her car and drove away.

My Mother Remembered the Envelope

My mother lived in the same house where Jennifer had gone nearly six years earlier.

Debra Morris opened the door wearing gardening gloves.

“Kevin? What’s wrong?”

I walked past her into the kitchen.

“Did Jennifer come here after our divorce?”

Mom stopped removing one glove.

“What?”

“Jennifer. Did she come to this house?”

“I haven’t thought about that woman in years.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She pulled the glove off slowly.

“Why are you suddenly talking about Jennifer?”

I put my phone on the kitchen island and opened the screenshot I’d taken from the television.

Four children.

My mother’s face changed.

It lasted maybe one second.

But I saw it.

“You’ve seen them before.”

“Kevin—”

“You’ve seen those children.”

She turned toward the sink.

“I saw something online years ago.”

“Did Jennifer come here?”

Mom didn’t answer.

I moved around the island until she had to look at me.

“She says she brought you an envelope.”

Mom sat down.

That frightened me more than anything she could have said.

“Mom.”

She rubbed one thumb across the other.

“She was upset.”

I pulled out the chair across from her.

“So she came here.”

“Yes.”

“Was she pregnant?”

My mother closed her eyes briefly.

“Yes.”

For several seconds, the refrigerator was the only sound in the kitchen.

“She gave you something for me.”

“Kevin, your marriage was over.”

“Did she give you something for me?”

“An envelope.”

“Where is it?”

Mom looked away.

“I don’t have it anymore.”

I stood so quickly the chair scraped across the floor.

“What did you do with it?”

“I thought I was protecting you.”

“From what?”

She didn’t answer.

“From my pregnant wife?”

“Your ex-wife.”

“She was pregnant with my children.”

Mom’s head snapped toward me.

“You don’t know that.”

It was the way she said it.

Not How could you know that?

Not Are you sure?

You don’t know that.

I stared at her.

“But you do.”

Her face went pale.

She stood.

“Kevin, this isn’t a conversation we should have while you’re angry.”

“Did you know those children might be mine?”

“I had concerns.”

“What concerns?”

“There were things you didn’t know.”

“Then tell me.”

She picked up her gardening gloves and folded them together.

“I saw Jennifer with another man.”

I almost laughed.

“That’s your explanation?”

“More than once.”

“Who?”