When Chad’s French in-laws come over, he invites his friend, Nolan, along — to keep him company while Camille and her parents converse in French. While they have dinner, Chad discovers that Nolan understands French and reveals a family secret.
My wife, Camille, is as French as they come. We met at college when she was an exchange student studying International Politics, and we’ve been together ever since.
Camille’s parents live in France but visit us twice a year. I’ve learned a few odd words and phrases in French, but the language has yet to stick with me.
Other than mon chéri or various dishes from French cuisine, I don’t know much. Now, my in-laws are around, and it’s only been four days.
So, I decided to invite my friend, Nolan to have dinner and meet Camille’s parents. That way, I would also have someone to talk to.
Now imagine this:
We’re all sitting at the table, enjoying our bouillabaisse. Nolan and I talked about an audit at work, and Camille and her parents were happily chatting in French.
Everything seems fine, right? Wrong.
While mid-conversation about work, Nolan’s face goes as white as a ghost, and he nudges my arm firmly with his elbow.
“Go upstairs and check under your bed. Trust me,” he whispers urgently.
My first instinct was to laugh it off — it made no sense. But one look at his wide eyes told me that this wasn’t a joke.
“Excuse me,” I said to the table. “I’ll be right back.”
I reluctantly shuffled to my bedroom, feeling like I was stepping into some strange French noir film. I picked Camille’s silver silk robe off the floor and bent to look under the bed.
My heart was beating ridiculously fast like I was about to have a heart attack. But there it was — a lone black box.
I opened the box with shaky fingers, going through the contents quickly — I didn’t know if Camille would come looking for me. Then, toward the bottom of the box, was a series of photographs of Camille, wearing next to nothing.
My heart pounded harder and nausea rose through my body.
What have I just stumbled upon? I asked myself.
As I was about to put everything back, the world turned black.
It must have been hours later when I woke up in a hospital ward, surrounded by empty beds. The harsh light glared down on me as my eyes adjusted to the change of venue and the sharp smells of detergent.
“Woah,” I mumbled, my throat raw.
That’s when I noticed that Nolan was sitting next to me, his head propped up by his arm.
“You passed out in your bedroom, mate,” he said. “What happened?”
Then, it all came back to me. Camille’s box under the bed, my insatiable curiosity mixed with an overactive heart rate brought on by a panic attack.
But I did get a glimpse into the box. It turned out to be my own Pandora’s Box. There were incriminating photos of Camille, love letters to a man named Benoit, and little trinkets, all piecing together a tale of betrayal.
It turns out that Camille was hiding an affair.
“You were taking forever,” Nolan said. “So, I followed you, and I found you passed out on the floor. I closed the box and pushed it back under before calling Camille and an ambulance.”
“How did you know?” I asked, thinking about the warning Nolan had given me.
“I did French throughout high school, Chad,” he said. “While talking, I understood that Camille said something about hiding everything under the bed. I’m sorry.”
“Where’s Camille?” I asked.
“At the cafeteria, she said she needed to stretch her legs. So, she went to get coffee.”
I put my head back and thought of the letters that my wife had been receiving.
I got discharged the following day, and Nolan drove me home. Camille fussed over me, making me a healthy juice and ensuromg that I was okay. But of course I wasn’t. Nothing was okay.
That afternoon, I had to set the record straight. I couldn’t look at Camille and feel what I had felt before.
“I can’t continue in this marriage,” I said when Camille brought me a juice.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“I know about the black box under the bed.”
Camille turned pale.
“I can explain,” she said, jumping up.
“I saw more than enough, Cami. I don’t think your version of an explanation would change that.”
“Just listen,” she said. “My parents set up the meeting with Benoit. They wanted me to be with someone French — to have completely French children.”
I looked at her, wondering how she expected me to sit there and listen to more.
“So, after they arranged it,” she continued. “I met him. And we hit it off, and our friendship grew.”
“I want a divorce. Immediately,” I said, not wanting to listen to anything else.
Camille made a fuss, hurling accusations of me snooping and invading her privacy. She threatened not to sign the divorce papers when they came, but I told her that there was just no love left in our marriage after what she had done.
“Give me another chance,” she pleaded.
But I didn’t want any of it.
The divorce process lasted a few months, and Camille contested everything — from the house to spousal maintenance — and she even wanted me to pay for her tickets to France every year. I refused everything except the house. I didn’t want to be there anymore anyway. I’m living in a bachelor pad closer to my office now.
I’m heartbroken, sure. But at least now, I’m not living a lie. And that’s liberating.
I’m also grateful to Nolan for telling me the truth and staying by my side through the divorce.
Now, I wonder if Camille will end up with Benoit or not — I know her parents will love it if she does.
We Cut the Cake at Our Gender Reveal Party, and It Turned Out Black, My MIL, Dressed in Black, Stood Aside and Cried
was falling into place, like the universe had finally decided to give us our happily ever after.
“This is it, Misha,” Jerry said to me the night before the party. “We’re finally going to complete our family.”
“I know,” I said, smiling. “I can’t wait for our little one to come and turn our world upside down.”
We wanted to make the gender reveal special, so we decided on a big party. We invited family from both sides, hired a bakery for the cake, and handed the ultrasound results to Jerry’s mom, Nancy. She was thrilled to be in charge.
“I’ve got everything under control, Misha,” Nancy promised. “I’ll take care of the cake and get a special gift for my grandbaby. I just know it’s going to be a girl—I’m ready to spoil her rotten!”
Nancy had been eager to be involved ever since we announced the pregnancy, so it felt good to let her handle the cake. I was grateful she felt included.
As my mom and I set up for the party, the house was transformed into a Pinterest-perfect setting—pink and blue balloons tied to every chair, platters of food arranged on the table, and a banner that read, “He or She? Let’s See!” It was everything I had ever dreamed of.
The final touch was the beautiful white cake at the center of the room, ready for the big reveal. Jerry’s whole family was there—his cousins, brother, aunt—filling the house with excitement and chatter.
When Nancy arrived, I noticed she was dressed all in black. It struck me as strange, but I didn’t think much of it. Maybe she thought black was slimming or elegant. Who knew?
As everyone gathered around the cake, the energy in the room buzzed with anticipation. Phones were out, cameras ready to capture the big moment.
Jerry put his arm around me. “Ready?” he whispered.
“Let’s do this,” I grinned.
The countdown began.
“Three… two… one!”
We cut into the cake, expecting to see pink or blue inside. But when we pulled out the first slice, the room went silent. The cake was pitch black.
Not a hint of pink. Not a touch of blue. Just black.
My heart sank. Was this some kind of joke? No one was laughing. Everyone stood frozen, unsure whether to keep recording or put their phones down.
I glanced at Jerry, who looked just as confused as I felt. Then my eyes landed on Nancy, standing off to the side. She was dressed head to toe in black—black dress, black scarf, black shoes—and now she looked like she was… crying?
“Nancy?” I called out, frowning.
She wiped her eyes with a tissue, her makeup smudging. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice rising. “Why would you order a black cake?”
Jerry stepped in, his confusion turning to frustration. “Mom, what’s going on?”
Nancy dabbed at her eyes, trembling. “It’s not about the cake. It’s what I was told… I couldn’t risk it.”
“What are you talking about?” Jerry asked, his patience wearing thin.
Nancy took a deep breath. “Ten years ago, I visited a fortune teller with my sister. She told me something terrifying—that if my first grandchild was a boy, it would destroy your family, Jerry. And I’d be struck with a terrible illness.”
The room gasped. Jerry’s jaw dropped. “You’ve believed that nonsense for ten years?”
Nancy nodded, wringing her hands. “I know it sounds crazy, but I couldn’t ignore it. She was famous in our town—everyone said her predictions were always right.”
I stared at her, stunned. “So you sabotaged our gender reveal because of a fortune teller?”
Nancy hung her head. “I thought if it was a boy, maybe the black cake would… stop the curse. I even put bay leaves in it, hoping it would change something.”
I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to process the absurdity. I knew Nancy could be a bit eccentric, but this? This was beyond anything I’d imagined.
Jerry let out a sharp breath. “Mom, you let a con artist control your decisions for ten years?”
Nancy’s lip quivered as she crumbled under the weight of her fear. “I was terrified of losing you. I couldn’t bear the thought that something bad would happen to your family because of me.”
Before anyone could respond, Jerry’s cousin Megan, who had been scrolling through her phone, chimed in.
“Wait, was it J. Morris? That fortune teller?”
Nancy’s eyes lit up. “Yes! That’s the one!”
Megan shook her head, holding up her phone. “She was exposed years ago, Aunt Nancy. A total fraud. Look, there’s an article about her getting arrested for scamming people.”
Nancy’s eyes widened as she stepped closer to read the screen. “I… I can’t believe this. All these years, I’ve been living in fear for nothing?”
Jerry rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Mom, you let this nonsense ruin one of the most important moments of our lives.”
Nancy’s shoulders sagged, her face crumpling with guilt. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to ruin your day. I just didn’t know how to stop believing it.”
There was a heavy silence in the room. I wanted to be furious, but seeing Nancy so broken made it impossible. I walked over and put a hand on hers.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said softly. “I’m glad we know the truth now. You can enjoy the rest of the pregnancy with us. You’re going to be a grandma.”
Nancy’s tearful eyes met mine, and a small smile crept across her face. “Thank you, darling. I’m truly sorry.”
Jerry, still shaken, managed to laugh. “Wait… so does this mean we’re having a boy?”
The room burst into nervous laughter, and even Nancy chuckled through her tears. Jerry squeezed my hand, grinning.
“Well, I guess this was the strangest gender reveal ever.”
We all laughed, the tension finally lifting. Megan took a picture of the cake, laughing as she typed, “#GothBabyReveal.”
In the end, we cut into the black cake and shared it with everyone. It wasn’t the reveal I had imagined, but somehow, it felt just right—filled with laughter, love, and the relief that everything was finally out in the open.
Now, all we had to do was wait for our little one to arrive.
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