My son started living with me until he finds a job. But, he’s been slacking off and treating me like a personal maid. He never lets me in his room. Every time I pass, I smell an unbearable stench. One day, he went out and I decided to find the source of this smell.
I lifted his bed and found three weeks’ worth of rotting takeout containers, crusted over and crawling with mold. I gagged and dropped the frame back down. The smell hit me like a brick wall. Old curry, sour cream, something with fish. I threw open the window, grabbed rubber gloves, and just started tossing things into trash bags.
That’s when I noticed something odd. Under the pile of old clothes and empty soda cans, there was a cardboard box duct-taped shut. Not labeled, not stashed neatly—just shoved halfway under the dresser like it didn’t want to be found. The smell wasn’t just from the food. It was coming from the box.
I hesitated. It’s not like I wanted to invade my own son’s privacy. But the house was starting to reek. I figured if it was something dangerous—dead animal, who knows—I had a right to know. So I took a pair of scissors and sliced the tape open.
Inside were dozens of damp T-shirts, all rolled up and packed tight. But when I pulled one out, I realized they weren’t just shirts—they were baby clothes. Tiny, stained onesies, burp cloths, even a pair of little girl’s shoes.
I stared at them for a long minute, heart pounding. None of this made sense. He didn’t have a kid. At least, not that I knew of.
That night, when he came home, I sat at the kitchen table and waited. I didn’t say anything right away. I let him make a sandwich, scroll through his phone, pretend he hadn’t noticed the bags of trash piled by the back door.
Then I said, “What’s in the box under your bed, Idir?”
He froze, mid-bite.
“I asked you not to go in there,” he muttered.
“You’re living under my roof, and the smell was unbearable. I had no choice. I found baby clothes, Idir. What’s going on?”
He didn’t look at me. He put the sandwich down carefully and just sat there for a second, like he was thinking hard.
Then, with a long sigh, he said, “I have a daughter.”
My hands clenched under the table. “Since when?”