The First Date of Sheila and Derek

Sheila had been on the dating app for six months—cautiously hopeful, but increasingly frustrated by the endless small talk and fleeting conversations. Most men seemed more interested in clever one-liners than real connection. But Derek? He felt different. His profile painted the picture of a polished, confident man—37 years old, well-traveled, searching for something meaningful. Their chats had been engaging, full of depth and humor. So when he offered to pick her up for dinner, saying, “I’ll take you to a great spot—you’ll love it,” she chose to believe him.

She spent hours getting ready, carefully selecting a dress that struck the right balance between effortless and elegant. As she touched up her lipstick, she allowed herself a rare feeling: excitement. Maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

That excitement dimmed the moment Derek pulled up.

As she slid into the passenger seat, her eyes caught on something in the back. A baby seat.

She hesitated. “Do you have kids?”

Derek, hands on the wheel, didn’t seem to register her surprise. “Oh, yeah—three. They’re with their mom most of the time.” He glanced over with a casual smile, as if this were a minor detail.

Sheila returned the smile, but her mind raced. He had never mentioned being a father. Not once. She wasn’t upset that he had kids—she was upset that he had chosen to leave it out.

As they drove, she waited for him to ask what kind of food she liked, maybe to offer a choice. Instead, he confidently announced, “We’re going to this little Chinese place I love. Trust me—you’ll enjoy it.”

Trust me.

She didn’t argue. But something inside her cooled.

At the restaurant, Derek took charge of the menu, ordering without consulting her. Dish after dish arrived—dumplings, Peking duck, sizzling beef. She picked at her plate, polite but frustrated. Had he even noticed that she hadn’t chosen anything herself?

As they waited for their food, Derek talked. About his job. His divorce. His struggles as a single dad. When she finally found a pause in his monologue, she tilted her head. “How old did you say you were again?”

He chuckled, sipping his drink. “Well, everyone says I look 37, so that’s what I put. But I’m actually 47. Age is just a number, right?”

Sheila set her glass down, staring at him. Not because of the age difference, but because of what it meant. If he could lie so easily about that, what else wasn’t real?

The rest of the evening blurred. Derek never once asked about her—her job, her family, her passions. He seemed completely unaware of her growing discomfort.