Duncan had just returned from a grueling, week-long business trip. It had become a quiet family tradition—whenever he came back from traveling, he brought home pastries from Sugar Finch, the quaint little bakery his wife Emmie and their daughter Leila adored. This time was no different. As he stepped through the front door, the scent of buttery croissants and frosted cinnamon rolls wafted in behind him. He was tired but excited to see his girls again, and even more eager to surprise them with the treats.
Dinner was full of laughter and small stories, the usual catching up. Emmie teased him about his overpacked suitcase, and Leila beamed as she described a class project she was proud of. Everything seemed perfectly ordinary—comforting, even—until the family sat down later that evening to share a bowl of ice cream, a sweet ending to their reunion.
That’s when Leila, in her soft, thoughtful voice, said something that made Duncan’s spoon pause midair.
“Daddy… I saw a ghost in the house.”
He chuckled gently, raising an eyebrow. “A ghost? When was this?”
“Two nights ago. I got up to get water and… he was standing by the stairs. Just looking. Not moving.” Her voice trembled slightly.
Emmie and Duncan exchanged a glance. “Sweetheart, it was probably a dream,” Emmie reassured her. Duncan ruffled Leila’s hair. “Maybe your imagination’s getting spooky from those books you’ve been reading.”
Still, something about Leila’s seriousness stuck with him. Kids say strange things, yes—but sometimes, they see what adults refuse to.
Later that evening, while Emmie took Leila upstairs for bedtime, Duncan went to unpack. He opened the closet, expecting to toss his dirty laundry in the hamper, maybe hang up a suit. But the moment the door swung open, he stopped dead in his tracks.
A man was standing there.
An older man, mid-60s maybe, in the dim light, buttoning up a shirt as though he belonged there.
Duncan’s breath caught in his chest. “What the hell—?” he blurted, voice rising. “EMMIE!”
Footsteps pounded from the hallway as Emmie came running, her face full of concern. But when she saw the man in their closet, her expression collapsed into horror.
“I—who are you?” she demanded, eyes wide with confusion and fear.
“I can explain—” the man started, but before anyone could respond, Leila appeared at the doorway, her voice trembling.
“That’s him,” she whispered, clutching Emmie’s sleeve. “That’s the ghost.”
Duncan’s heart pounded. This wasn’t just some misunderstanding. There was a stranger—someone who had been in their home, near their child, moving through their private space.
Then came the final twist. A voice from behind them—Marie, Emmie’s mother, walking in with a grocery bag in hand. She froze.
“Tony?” she said, eyes going wide. “You’re still here?”
The room went still.
Emmie turned slowly to face her mother, her voice a whisper of disbelief. “You know him?”
Marie’s face flushed as the truth unraveled. Tony wasn’t a ghost. He was her longtime secret lover. She had been sneaking him into the house during her babysitting shifts—slipping him in after Leila was asleep, pretending to run errands while he stayed hidden. It had been going on for months.
Duncan stood speechless. Emmie looked shattered. And Leila, still too young to grasp the weight of it all, just stared at the man she had thought was a ghost.
“You brought your affair into our home?” Emmie said, tears brimming. “Around our daughter?”
Marie’s voice trembled. “Please… don’t tell your father. I just—he hasn’t loved me in years. I needed something for myself. But he can’t know. It’ll destroy him.”
Now the house felt colder. The pastries on the counter untouched. The family, once so tightly woven, had a tear through its center.
Duncan, still shaken, reached for Emmie’s hand. “Whatever happens next,” he said quietly, “we protect Leila. That’s what matters most.”
But the question hung heavily in the air: Should they tell Emmie's father and unravel everything? Or protect a secret that now tainted the safety of their home?