**Diary Entry**
“Dont look at me like that! I dont want this child. Take it!”the stranger shoved a baby carrier into my hands before I could react. I stood there, stunned, my mind racing to understand what was happening.
My husband and I had always lived in harmony, rarely arguing. I did my best to be a good wifekeeping our home in order, raising our twins, and supporting our small business. We married young, just after university, and built a quiet, happy life together. Cooking was my passion. Weekends were for experimenting with new recipes, my husband my ever-eager taste-tester, and the girls always curious about what Id whip up next. Between the children, the house, and work, I never once doubted him. It never crossed my mind he could betray me.
The past year had been rough, though. Business slowed, and we tightened our belts. Hed been traveling across the country, securing new contracts. The girls had just started primary school, so I stayed home with them. Then, one evening, as we pulled into the driveway, a beautiful woman rushed toward us. Before I could speak, she thrust the baby carrier at me.
“Dont gawk at me! I wont keep this child if he wont stay with me. Take it!” she shrieked, jabbing a finger at my husband.
I froze, clutching the carrier.
“You promised youd leave her!” she spat, then stormed off.
It took minutes for the shock to fade. One glance at my husbands face told me everything. We walked inside in silence. Inside the carrier was a boy, no more than two weeks old.
“Pick the girls up from school and get everything on this list for the baby,” I said. He nodded without a word.
Eighteen years have passed since then. Many friends couldnt fathom why Id raise another womans child when I already had two daughters. But I never asked about her. I raised him as my own, and the girls adored their little brother. We never hid the truth from him, and when he was old enough, we explained everything. To my surprise, he took it calmlynever once asking about his birth mother. And I was happy. Three wonderful children who loved us. My husband and I grew distant for a time, but he tried his best to mend things.
On our sons 18th birthday, we gathered with family. The girls, now married and living on their own, came to celebrate. Just as we were sitting down to eat, the doorbell rang. All day, something had felt offand I was right. A thin woman stood in the hallway, her face eerily familiar.
“I want to speak to my son,” she demanded.
“Hes not yours,” my son and I replied together.
He shut the door, then turned to us with a smile. “Dinners getting cold.”
Tears welled in my eyes. That boy*my* boywas worth every moment. Blood or not, he was family. And sometimes, love isnt about where you come from, but who stands by you in the end.
