At 11 p.m., my dad showed up at my door with a packed bag, saying he was divorcing my mom. Shocked and confused, I let him in. He seemed distant, avoiding my questions and acting strange. I tried to understand, but something felt off.

Life had been perfect. I was seven months pregnant, glowing despite swollen ankles. Peter and I had just finished setting up the nursery, debating baby names, and my parents were thrilled about becoming grandparents. Divorce seemed impossible after their 37 years together.

That night, I caught Dad sneaking into the nursery at 2 a.m., rifling through the closet. When I confronted him, he gave a weak excuse about the guest room. My gut told me there was more going on. The next morning, he left a note saying he was going to the lake house—which my mom soon revealed they sold a year ago.

Worried, Mom and I tracked Dad to a woman’s house on the edge of town. Expecting a confrontation, we barged in—and froze. It was a surprise party! Friends and family filled the room, celebrating my upcoming baby shower with a detective theme.

Dad explained the fake divorce drama and sneaky nursery visit were all part of the surprise. Even Mom was in on it. I laughed, overwhelmed by their creativity and love.

Peter showed up, grinning, and I realized how lucky I was to be surrounded by such a caring, playful family. The greatest mystery wasn’t the surprise—it was how much love could fit in one room.