I broke into a big cheesy grin as the DJ started to play my favourite song.
“Baby you’re a firework,” I screamed along to the Katy Perry hit, surrounded by friends.
Two girlfriends and I were at our favourite venue, celebrating the end of a long week.
My twin sister, Jen, was supposed to come with us, but she had a headache and decided to stay home.
“This one’s for Jen!” we cheered with our glasses in the air as the track changed to a Sean Paul song.
Midway through my gleeful boogie, I jolted as I felt a pair of hands loop around my waist.
“Hey you,” the stranger whispered into my ear.
I whirled around to see a stunning dark-haired guy wearing a button-down shirt smiling at me.
My cheeks blushed at his forwardness, but with a few vodka tonics in me, I embraced it.
For hours we danced together, oblivious to the world around us.
“Do you want a drink?” I asked as I emptied my glass.
“No thanks, I’m the designated driver tonight,” he replied, “but I’d love some fresh air.”
I followed him off the dance floor and we spilled out of the club and onto the street.
I leaned against a wall as he drew a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one up.
The chemistry between us was undeniable, even if we had only just met.
Once he had finished his cigarette he pulled me in for a pash.
“I’ve been waiting to do that all night. Come with me, let’s go somewhere more private,” he said.
Butterflies fluttered about in my stomach in anticipation as he led me off to a side street where he unlocked a red Holden commodore.
He opened the back door for me. “After you,” he said and waved me in.
In the car things heated up quickly and it wasn’t long before we’d ripped each other’s clothes off and made passionate love.
The windows steamed up around us and I tried not to think about what anyone passing by might see.
Once it was over, I went to put my clothes back on.
“I can’t believe we haven’t done this before,” he laughed.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by the comment but brushed it off.
When we stepped out of the car, I decided to go home while he was going back to find his friends in the club.
He pulled me in for a hug and kissed me on the head.
“See you later, Jen, don’t wait up,” he said, before pulling away and strolling back up the street.
I stood in stunned silence as I watched him walk off.
Did he just call me by my sister’s name?
It suddenly dawned on me that the guy I had just slept with had mistaken me for my identical twin, Jen.
We looked exactly the same, but her hair was shorter than mine.
People mistook us all of the time.
She too was a regular at the nightclub.
I’d been too tipsy to even consider this as an option – I just thought he liked me.
When he was being forward, I assumed he was just confident.
But he thought I was someone he knew.
I was mortified.
Tears streamed down my face as I walked home.
Jen had mentioned a boy she was seeing that she met at the club, but I never put two and two together.
I had made a huge mistake, and I couldn’t even tell Jen, it would break her heart.
When I got home, I buried my head in my pillow and wept myself to sleep.
The following day, I swore that I would keep the tryst a secret and never tell another soul what happened.As the weeks rolled by, I tried to put the ordeal behind me.
“Where did you sneak off to the other night?” a friend of mine asked.
“Oh, I wasn’t feeling well so decided to go home,” I lied.
When she asked me if I was free to go for another night out, I checked my diary.
As I scanned the dates, it dawned on me that I had missed my period. I was five days late.
My heart thumped as I raced to the chemist to pick up a pregnancy test.
Surely I wasn’t pregnant?
When I got home, I peed on the stick and spent two agonising minutes waiting for the result.
As it came up, I let out a wail.
It was positive.
I hadn’t slept with anyone since the boy in the club.
His name was Jonno, and he and Jen had become an official couple.
How had I got myself into this mess?
I decided I would tell people half of the truth.
I would say that I slept with a guy after a night out at the club, but I didn’t know his name.At the time, that was true.
The following day, I knew I had to tell Jen.
When I got to her house, I fumbled nervously with my sleeve as she answered the door.
“Jen, I’m pregnant. I slept with a guy on a night out, but I don’t remember his name.” It came out of my mouth like vomit.
I looked down at the floor, ashamed.
I didn’t want to see the expression on her face.
But she was so supportive.
“Sara, that is amazing. You’re going to have a mini-me running around. I couldn’t be happier for you,” she said.
Her encouragement felt like a knife to the heart.
She was being lovely, but I was stabbing her in the back.
As my pregnancy progressed, her relationship with Jonno went from strength to strength.
They even planned to move in together.
When she introduced us, I pretended I’d never met him.
Every time I saw Jen, the truth was on the tip of my tongue, but I could never muster the courage to tell her.
I wished she would just dump the guy so that the issue would go away.
But that didn’t happen.
At 38 weeks, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy and I called him Brock.
One thing I know is that I can never tell anyone who the father is.
From the moment Brock was born, I fell in love, and he brings meaning to my life.
For now, Brock and I have each other and that is enough
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