I was in the middle of a livestream, matched with some kid who sounded like he’d just started kindergarten, when I decided to run my mouth. "Alright, kiddo," I said, my voice dripping with gamer-girl sass, "call me Mom." My brand-new son promptly lost his mind. "Dad! Dad, I found her! I found my mom!" 1. A dozen question marks exploded in my head. Hello? We're live here, little dude. Eight hundred thousand people are watching. I’m a streamer who built her brand on skill, not on drama and gossip, okay? "Whoa there, little guy," I said, trying to backtrack. "It was just a joke. You don't have to call your dad into this." But my sweet summer child was completely ignoring me. On screen, his little mage character, a bubbly thing called Sparkle, was just running circles around my hero. "Dad, you have to come see! My mom is right here!" I was speechless. A glance at the chat confirmed they were losing it. A waterfall of laughing emojis scrolled by, someone asking if I was hiding a secret love child. Just as I was frantically trying to deny everything, the Silas on our team—the one who’d been all flashy moves and cocky swagger since the match started—inexplicably joined the weird little ritual. He started circling my character right alongside Sparkle. Then, a message popped up in the public chat from him. A simple, quiet sentence. Yeah, she’s beautiful. 2 Excuse me? If I remembered correctly, the hero I was playing was Grizz, a mountain of a man with a beard that could hide a family of squirrels. The chat absolutely erupted. My temples started to throb. This had to be a setup. I was convinced these two were hired by a rival streamer to mess with me. I made my Grizz stomp his feet and leap out of their little circle of crazy. But just as I landed, the enemy team’s vanguard, a real heavy-hitter, seized the opportunity and slammed me, tearing through my health bar. My ultimate ability was still on cooldown. It was life or death, and in that split second, Sparkle somehow found a way to get right back next to me, spinning again. Silas stood beside us both, his character looking infuriatingly calm. He typed again. Son, does your mother need help? Then my “son’s” voice came through my headset, full of childlike earnestness. "Mom, Dad's asking if you need help." "..." I'm not blind! 3 I felt like they were humiliating me. Fueled by a surge of pure spite, I made Grizz jump directly into the enemy’s finishing move, basically committing glorious suicide. With its target gone, the little Sparkle character stood there for a dazed moment before the enemy vanguard sent him back to the spawn point, too. Silas, however, got away. He ran, of all places, straight under an enemy tower. Our team had given up three kills in the opening minutes of the match. Our other two teammates were, justifiably, starting to rage. ThirtyEightAndSingle: Are you three putting on a family drama for us? Is that it? BunnyWithAFang: Grizz, do you even know how to play? Did you buy this high-ranked account? I wanted to cry. I was desperate to prove that I deserved my 800,000 followers. I had to win this game. But the moment I respawned, before I’d even taken two steps out of our base, my dear son was on me again. "Mom, we have a parent-child activity day at my kindergarten tomorrow. Are you coming?" 4 I ignored him. He was persistent. "Mom, are you coming?" "Mom, are you coming?" "Mom, are you coming?" A vein in my forehead pulsed. "No," I snapped. After I said it, his little character stopped moving completely. I didn't think much of it, just relieved that the noise had finally stopped. Until a new sound trickled through my headset. It was the sound of a small child trying very hard to cry without making any noise. It was a tiny, muffled sound, like a kitten whimpering, but it struck a chord deep inside me, sharp and painful. For a flash, I was a little girl again, my small hands clutching the cold wood of a coffin, begging my own mother to please, please wake up. "Hey," I said, my voice suddenly soft. "I… I can't tomorrow. I'm busy. But maybe next time, okay?" I figured he was just a kid. He’d forget about it in a few days. The crying stopped instantly. About two minutes later, my son, with his character’s two enormous pigtails swinging, came bouncing back to my side. "Mom, there's a parent-child sports festival next week. I already signed you up." "..." Does your kindergarten have a mandatory family event every single week? 5 It was ridiculous, right? And where was this kid’s dad in all of this? Too busy farming minions in the jungle to parent his own child? "Uh, listen," I started, trying to come up with a good excuse. "I'm in L.A. That’s probably too far. I don't think I can make it in a week." My son immediately piped up, "What a coincidence! I live in L.A., too!" I wanted to bang my head against my desk. Of all the cities in the country, really? "Right, but I’m in Culver City," I pushed on, committed to the lie. "That’s probably really far from you, not convenient at all." He got even more excited. "What a coincidence! I'm in Culver City, too!" I should have just said I lived on the moon. "Well, it still wouldn't be right," I said, pinning my last hope on Silas, the dad who had been silently massacring jungle monsters this whole time. He seemed like he had to be the sane one. "Your dad wouldn't agree to it." But then Silas typed his reply. Where do you live? I’ll pick you up next Friday. 6 My brain short-circuited. Was that something a normal human being would say? I pretended I was blind, deaf, and dumb. I couldn't see the chat, couldn't hear the kid. I just focused on playing my big, burly Grizz. But Silas wouldn't let it go. He materialized beside me as if out of thin air. Address. "..." I think I have a pretty good temper. I didn't curse him out. But my rage had to go somewhere, so I unleashed every single one of Grizz’s abilities on him. After the onslaught, Silas just stood there, completely still. For a second, I thought his game had crashed. Then he typed. I’ve slain dragons with a single glance, yet I am undone by a look from you. My Grizz, not to be outdone, automatically triggered one of his own ridiculous voice lines: "Hahahaha! A real man's battle is right here, right now!" Silas: I have poetry and strong wine. Come with me. Grizz: "Heheheh, boss, I've got a thousand ways to cut your salary!" The fans in my stream chat immediately started shipping them. "..." 7 I was frozen, my character locked in a bizarre staredown with Silas. I knew some heroes had special dialogue triggers with each other, but Grizz and Silas? Seriously? What kind of twisted game design was this? I quickly made Grizz jump backward, terrified that if I stayed any longer, a shower of pink hearts would spontaneously erupt over our heads. Silas went back to the jungle, and I thought, with a sigh of relief, that he’d finally returned to normal. Just then, my stream exploded. Someone had gifted me ten "Titan Tributes" in a row, the highest-tier gift on the platform. The sudden influx of cash and hype shot my stream up to the number three spot on the entire site. I was floored, gushing with gratitude as I thanked the generous donor. "Thank you so much to… 'MyHusband'… for the ten Titan Tributes!" The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I'd said. I squinted at the screen name. This guy was messing with me. But he'd just dropped a serious amount of cash on my channel; I couldn't exactly call him out. While I was torn between defending my honor and keeping the money, Silas drifted back over to my side. You’re welcome. I didn’t get it, but a second later, he made me understand. Another thirty Titan Tributes flooded my stream, all from the same user: "MyHusband." A cold, dawning horror began to creep up my spine. Sure enough, Silas typed again. What’s mine is yours. 8 Then I heard my son’s voice, laced with disdain. "That's it? You'll never win my mom over being that cheap." "..." So it really was the flashy Silas player who sent the gifts? Just as my brain was about to melt from the sheer absurdity of it all, my stream was hit with another tidal wave. One hundred Titan Tributes. My son's voice returned, filled with pride. "For you, Mommy. Go buy yourself something nice." I just sat there, numb. I didn't know if I was stunned by the father-son duo's performance or blinded by the fifty thousand dollars that had just been dropped on my stream. Had I stumbled into a match with billionaires? My fans were going even crazier than I was. The chat was a battlefield of theories. Some thought it was the sweetest, most romantic thing ever. Others were convinced the two were shady and had bad intentions. The most ridiculous theory? That I had orchestrated the whole thing myself as a publicity stunt to gain followers. All hell broke loose. Fans started fighting with each other—some defending me, some accusing me, and some just insulting everyone in sight. My chat looked less like a gaming stream and more like a riot. Eventually, a consensus formed. They all demanded that I go to the sports festival to prove my innocence. And at that exact moment, as if on cue, Silas delivered the killing blow. Your son got you a present. He’ll be really sad if you don’t go. Mommy, please come. I haven’t seen you in six years. 9 That father-son tag team took the raging dumpster fire that was my livestream and poured gasoline all over it. I was completely and utterly speechless. There was nothing I could say. Any denial would just make me look guiltier. At this point, the only way out was through. I had to go to this stupid sports day to clear my name. "What's the name of the kindergarten?" I asked, my voice tight with frustration. I needed to see for myself what kind of institution was raising a child this… talented. DM’d you. See you Friday. I wanted to reach through the screen and shatter his stupid, poetic sword. But the worst was yet to come. The moment I agreed, Silas and Sparkle—that shameless father-son duo—disconnected from the game. They just left. What? What the actual— They left me to face the wrath of my hysterical fans and our two, now apocalyptic, teammates. All by myself. I don’t know what came over me, but for the remaining ten minutes of that doomed match, I found myself apologizing profusely to our other two teammates. None of it was even my fault. What had I ever done to deserve this? To make matters worse, before I could even end the stream, my assistant, clearly afraid I'd back out, posted an official announcement on all my social media. "THIS FRIDAY: TUNE IN FOR A SPECIAL LIVE BROADCAST! DINO-MITE ELLIE AND THE MYSTERY FATHER-SON DUO AT THE KINDERGARTEN SPORTS FESTIVAL!" 10 I stayed completely offline after the stream ended. That night, my parents called me. They said they wanted to see their grandson. Apparently, a gaming streamer making headlines for a secret family was big news. The embarrassment was galactic. After days of agonizing and trying to think of a way out, Friday finally arrived. For the occasion, I’d chosen an outfit consisting of a fluffy, full-body brown bear suit and a giant panda ski mask. To be blunt, I looked like a grizzly bear who had mugged a panda for its face. My agent, however, was ecstatic. He started the livestream the moment we got in the car. It was my first-ever "face reveal," and after a week of hype, my fans were greeted with the sight of a genetic monstrosity. The chat was not kind. I didn't care. I was clutching the "treasures" in my bag, my knuckles white, gritting my teeth in anticipation of meeting my so-called son and his father. I was going to give them a welcome they would never, ever forget. 11 The drive was short. The kindergarten was only ten minutes from my apartment. So close, in fact, that I was half-convinced they’d moved there overnight just to mess with me. It’s worth mentioning that the kindergarten had a ridiculous name: The Bumblebee Patch. I’d been sure Silas was punking me, but no, The Bumblebee Patch was a real place. As we pulled up, a man in a full tuxedo approached the car and opened my door. "Miss Ellie, I presume?" he asked politely. "The young master is waiting for you inside." "..." So, this is how rich people play their games, huh? "How did you recognize me in… this?" I asked, genuinely confused. The butler smiled. "The master said that if someone arrived in a bizarre costume, it would certainly be you." My agent leaned in close, whispering in my ear. "He knows you that well? Are you sure you haven't been hiding a man—and a son—from me this whole time?" "..." Honestly? If I weren't still a card-carrying member of the virgin club, I'd be starting to wonder if maybe I had given birth at some point and, in a fit of madness, abandoned the child. 12 The tuxedoed butler led me, the panda-bear hybrid, into the kindergarten. As soon as we stepped onto the playground, I was mobbed by a swarm of ecstatic children. "Riley, your mommy really came!" "Riley, you're so cute! Is it because you were born from a panda?" "Riley, where's your daddy?" "Riley, if your mom is a panda, is your dad a tiger?" "If they have a baby brother or sister, will it be a squirrel?" I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at their innocent questions. But what I really wanted to know was which one of them was my "son." The sea of children parted, and a little boy in a tiny, formal suit was pushed forward. He was adorable, but also seriously overweight. A perfect little sphere of a child. Maybe he was trying to match the kindergarten's name? His cheeks were flushed bright red, and he seemed incredibly nervous. He stammered for a moment before managing a tiny voice. "Mommy, I'm your son. My name is Riley. It's a pleasure to meet you." 13 My heart did a complicated little flip. Looking at this impossibly cute, round child, I had the strangest feeling that maybe I really was his mom. I have zero experience with kids. I racked my brain for something to say. "Do you like lions, tigers, or elephants?" My son thought for a moment. "Elephants." "Got it." I nodded, then dug around in my bag. I pulled out a plush, elephant-butt-shaped cushion and plopped it on his head like a hat. "Mommy?" Riley squeaked, confused. "Stand still," I ordered in my sternest voice. The little guy immediately stood up straight, like a soldier at attention. I was very satisfied. Then, with a twisted grin, I pulled out a giant, inflatable squeaky hammer with "1000 TONS" written on the side and started whacking the elephant butt on his head. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! I chanted as I hammered away. "This one's for the emotional distress of you calling me 'Mom' out of nowhere!" Squeak! "This one's for all the trouble you caused me!" Squeak! "This one's for the massive emotional distress of you wasting so much money on gifts for me!" Squeak! "And this one—this is for getting me reported by my own teammates after you rage-quit!" SQUEAK! When I felt I'd gotten most of it out of my system, I saw the poor kid was completely shell-shocked. I quickly took the cushion off his head, patted him gently, and put on my sweetest, kindest smile. "Now, where's your father?" The boy, ever so honest, pointed towards a large tree in the distance. Only then did I notice a man standing there. Gripping my hammer, I stormed toward him. 14 I swear, my only intention at that moment was to either hospitalize him or, preferably, end him. But as I got closer and his face came into focus—that stupidly, unfairly handsome face—I froze. All the air left my lungs. I spun around and tried to run. I didn't get far. A hand clamped down on the collar of my bear suit, yanking me to a halt. "And where do you think you're going?" a voice behind me drawled, thick with amusement. "I-I-I… I have the wrong person." I struggled, but my collar felt like it was fused to his hand. "No, you don't," he said. "I'm Riley's dad. The 'Number One Fan' who you called 'husband' on your stream." I wanted to scream, but I bit it back and forced a strained laugh. "A misunderstanding! It was all a misunderstanding! I'll give you the money back, right now." My hands trembling, I fumbled in my bag for the bank card I’d brought just in case and tossed it over my shoulder. A cold chuckle came from behind me. "Trying to pay me off again?" My mind stalled. Again? I wasn't the one who started this. Before I could figure out what to say, my agent, that beautiful idiot, came charging over with his camera held high. A jolt of panic shot through me. "STAY BACK!" I yelled. But it was too late. He skidded to a stop a few feet away, and the expression on his face morphed from confusion to pure, unadulterated shock. "Holy crap, Ellie!" my agent screamed, his voice cracking. "Your husband is Leo Sterling?!"
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