When Daniel, Sarah, and their son, Derril, move to a new city, they take some time to readjust to the new place. One positive about the move is that Derril’s school focuses on soccer, his favorite sport. Soon after, things get strange when the little boy notices his soccer coach hugging his mom…

Recently, our lives changed when my wife, Sarah, landed a promising new job. It meant uprooting our lives and moving to a new city, but we were optimistic about the future.

“We need this, Daniel,” Sarah said. “We need to plan for our future, and we also need a new start. Living here has become stale.”

“I agree,” I said. “And we need a better life for Derril.”

Our seven-year-old son, Derril, was especially excited about the move because we enrolled him in a school with a soccer club, which was the one sport that he absolutely loved.

Sarah and I were thrilled to see him so passionate about something, especially because we knew that moving would be a big adjustment for him.

“I’m happy about the move, Dad,” he told me one day when we were buying him a new pair of soccer boots. “My old school only cared about baseball and basketball, but soccer wasn’t important.”

“I’m glad that you’re happy about this,” I told him. “I want you to be happy with this move, too. We’re not just doing it because of Mom’s new job.”

He nodded enthusiastically.

A few months passed, and I had finally gotten into the routine of working from home. Thankfully, my career in cybersecurity meant that I could keep working at the same company following the move.

But, over time, I noticed a change in my son.

One day, he came home from school looking troubled, his usual enthusiasm dampened. His bright eyes seemed to lose their sparkle, and he became quieter and more withdrawn.

Whenever I tried to talk to him, he would just walk away, retreating into silence.

It was unlike Derril, and it worried me.

“Something is going on with him,” I told Sarah when I was making breakfast for the three of us before the day began.

“I know,” she nodded. “I’ve been seeing that, too. Whenever I try to talk to him, he looks at me for a moment before looking away.”

“Maybe it’s just part of adjusting to a new place? And making new friends, too? Because he’s still eating and sleeping as normal. So, until that changes, I think we’re okay,” I said.

But then the tipping point came one day when I walked into his room after school and found him crying.

Just looking at him devastated me.

“Derril, what’s wrong?” I asked gently, sitting beside him on the bed. “I need you to tell me everything. Enough time has passed, and I know you’re not okay.”

He looked up at me, tears brimming in his eyes, and took a deep, shaky breath.

“I don’t want Mr. Sanders to be my father!” he blurted out.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Mr. Sanders was his new soccer coach, and he was someone whom Derril had admired up until now.

“Why would he become your father, Derril?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady and calm.

My son’s voice wavered as he explained.

“Yesterday, when Mom was picking me up from practice, he hugged her. And she didn’t push him away!”

A cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

Sarah had been distant lately, but I always chalked it up to her being busy with her new job. I knew that it was going to be a rocky few months while we all adjusted. But at the same time, she seemed preoccupied, often lost in thought.

This, however, was something I couldn’t ignore.

Determined to uncover the truth, I logged off work early the next day and drove to the soccer field. Sarah usually fetched Derril from practice on her way home.

I parked far enough away to watch without being seen. I needed to know what was happening. I needed to know if Sarah and Mr. Sanders were romantically involved with each other.

As practice ended and the kids dispersed, I saw Sarah arrive. Moments later, Mr. Sanders approached her. They talked briefly, and then he placed a hand on her shoulder, leaning in close.

“They look way too comfortable,” I muttered to myself.

I watched as Sarah smiled but stepped back, looking around nervously, her eyes scanning the area as if she felt someone was watching.

“Yes, someone is watching,” I said to the car.

That night, I confronted my wife. I couldn’t take it any longer. I had made dinner and sat through the entire meal with doubts flooding my mind.

“Sarah, what’s going on with you and Mr. Sanders?” I asked straightforwardly.

Her face turned pale, and she took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly.

“There’s nothing going on, Daniel,” she said. “I swear! He’s just been supportive, that’s all!”

“Supportive how? Derril thinks that he’s trying to replace me,” I pressed on. “I need to know why.”

Sarah’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

“What? No! That’s not true! He’s been helping me with something else… something that I haven’t told you about yet.”

She sat me down, her voice trembling as she revealed a secret she’d been keeping.

“I can’t believe this,” I exclaimed, wondering why on earth I agreed to the move.

Apparently, Mr. Sanders had recognized a man from his past. A man who had ran in the same circles as him when he was off the rails and took part in unscrupulous activities.

“And not just any man, Daniel,” Sarah said. “He’s dangerous. And he has a history of stalking and violence. Mr. Sanders said that he has been keeping an eye on him, and he noticed that the man has been stalking me.”

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me? This is something for the police to handle!”

But my wife shook her head.

“Mr. Sanders has been trying to keep Derril and me safe. Because he noticed the man watching me during a few practice sessions.”

I put my head in my hands. Suddenly, the world felt too heavy for me. What dramatic television show had our lives become?

“Mr. Sanders suggested not pushing him away too obviously to avoid raising suspicion. I should have told you, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“We need to speak to him,” I said. “To Mr. Sanders. I need to hear this from him.”

Sarah nodded, her eyes shining with tears.

When we met with him, he corroborated Sarah’s account, showing us evidence of the man’s criminal activities.

“I’ve spoken to one of my detective friends,” he said. “They can’t do anything about this guy until something actually happens. So, I’ve been trying to keep an eye on Sarah and Derril. And the house.”

I had no idea what to say.

That night, Sarah and I sat down in the living room, trying to discuss the next steps and how to secure our home. Moments later, Derril burst into our room, his face frozen in shock.

“There’s someone outside my window!” he shrieked.

“Phone the police,” I told Sarah.

I rushed to his room, picking up the baseball bat that we displayed in the hallway. And sure enough, a shadowy figure was lurking near the tree not too far from Derril’s window.

Moments later, we heard sirens and saw the flashing lights of police cars. They arrived swiftly, surrounding the house and apprehending the man.

The officers confirmed that the lurker was indeed the man that Mr. Sanders had warned us about, and now, because he was caught, he was taken into custody.

“I’m so sorry for the confusion or distress I caused,” Mr. Sanders said when he visited us the next day.

He brought a box of pastries that Derril dug into immediately.

“The thing is, I know his type. When I met him before, he would find a young successful woman and fixate on her. When I saw him at soccer practice, I knew that he was after Sarah.

“How do you know him?” I asked.

“I had a rough past, too,” Mr. Sanders said. “But I just got caught up with the wrong crowd. I didn’t do anything to this extent.”

We thanked Mr. Sanders for his help, and he left our home.

Now that the threat was removed, Sarah and Derril seemed perfectly fine. But I still didn’t feel good about this. As grateful as I was to Mr. Sanders, there was something that just didn’t feel right about anything.

I wanted to leave. I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t want to stay here. I didn’t want my wife and child around Mr. Sanders.

What should I do?