Our mortgage company called me during lunch and said someone had paid six years of our mortgage in advance. I thought it was a mistake. When I asked my husband, he immediately knew who had done it. He just said, “Don't call them.” I asked why. He refused to answer. That night, I checked our bank records and discovered the payments hadn't started recently. They had been coming every month since the day our son was born. I confronted my husband again. He finally admitted someone had been paying us $4,500 every month. “For what?” I asked. He stared at the floor. “To keep something from happening.” I asked what. Before he could answer, our twelve-year-old son walked into the room. He looked at my husband and said, “You promised you wouldn't tell Mom until I turned eighteen.” My blood went cold. I asked my son what he meant. He started crying. Then he whispered, “The man who pays our mortgage told me you're not my real mother.” I stared at my husband. He shook his head. “That's not what he meant.” “Then what did he mean?” My husband finally pulled out an old hospital record. The mother's name wasn't mine. I looked at him in disbelief. He whispered: “You didn't give birth to him.” I couldn't speak. Then my son said something that made everything worse. “Mom, I know who my real mother is.” I turned toward him. He pointed at the front door. “She lives across the street.”