“Dont look at me like that! I dont want this baby. Take it!”a stranger shoved a baby carrier into my hands before I could even process what was happening.
My husband and I had always got on like a house on fire. We barely ever argued. I prided myself on being a good wife and homemaker. We married young, while still at uni, and soon welcomed twins into our lives. Once the kids were older, we started a small business. I helped out when I could, but mostly, I was busy raising the children and keeping the house in order. Cooking was my passion. My husband lived for weekends when Id whip up something delicious, and hed play the role of chief taste-tester. The kids were always eager to see what Mum had cooked up next.
Between the chaos of parenting, housework, and the business, I never stopped to question what my husband was up to. It never crossed my mind that the man I trusted could betray me. But the last year had been toughthe business was struggling, and we were pinching pennies. My husband had to travel across the country to secure new sales deals. The twins had just started primary school, so I was home with them most days.
Then, one evening, as we pulled into the driveway, a stunning woman stormed towards us. Before I could react, she thrust the baby carrier at me.
“Dont gawk at me like that! I dont need this child if he wont be with me. Take it!” she shrieked, jabbing a finger at my husband.
I stood frozen, utterly baffled.
“You promised youd leave her for me! Well, if you wont, I dont want this baby!” With that, she spat at my feet, spun on her heel, and marched off.
It took me a full minute to register the weight of the carrier in my hands. I didnt need to ask my husbandthe guilt in his eyes told me everything. We walked inside in silence. Inside the carrier was a tiny boy, no more than two weeks old.
“Youll pick the girls up from school and buy everything on this list for the baby,” I said flatly. He nodded, not daring to argue.
Eighteen years passed. Plenty of my friends judged me, baffled as to why Id raise another womans child when I already had two daughters. But I never asked my husband about the woman. I raised that boy as my own, and the girls adored having a little brother. We never hid the truth from him, and when he was old enough, we explained everything. To my surprise, he took it in stridedidnt even ask about his birth mother. And I was happy. We had three wonderful children who loved us. My husband and I? Well, things were never quite the same, but he tried his best to make amends.
On our sons eighteenth birthday, we planned a family celebration. Our daughtersnow married and living their own liveswere coming over. Just as we were about to sit down to dinner, the doorbell rang. We werent expecting anyone else, and a strange unease had been gnawing at me all day. Turns out, I was right to worry.
When I opened the door, there stood a wiry woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to the one whod handed me a baby all those years ago.
“I want to speak to my son,” she demanded.
“You dont have a son here,” my boy and I replied in unison.
Without another word, he shut the door in her face and ushered us back to the table. And as I blinked back tears, I realised just how lucky I wasto have raised such a brilliant son, even if he wasnt mine by blood.
