When my five-year-old talked about going to see “Daddy’s other kids” at the “secret house,” I was shocked. I believed I knew everything about my husband, but what I found out left me speechless. I never imagined he could do something like that.

It was a Tuesday. Just a regular Tuesday that started like every other day in our quiet suburban life.

I picked up my son Tim from kindergarten, and he was his usual bubbly self.

His cheeks had glitter glue on them, and he was proudly showing me a wobbly paper plate turtle with googly eyes.

“Look, Mommy!” he said happily, holding it up like it was a treasure.

I smiled and bent down to see it better. “Wow, buddy. That’s awesome. Is it a ninja turtle?”He laughed. “No, it’s just Turtle. He doesn’t fight anyone. He’s really slow, but he’s nice.”

I buckled him into his car seat and handed him his afternoon juice pouch. He stabbed the straw in with the dramatic flair of a tiny samurai, took a long sip, and then casually said the sentence that completely upended my world.

“Mommy, can we go to the playground near Daddy’s other house again? I miss his other kids.”

Daddy’s other house? Other kids?

For a second, I thought I must have heard him wrong.

I made myself laugh, because I didn’t know what else to do.

“Whose kids, honey?” I asked.

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Daddy’s other kids! The ones who call him ‘Dad’ too! They had juice boxes and a bouncy couch.”

“When did you see them?”

“When you were on the airplane for your work trip. Daddy said it was a secret house.”

The airplane.