Dont stare at me like that! I dont want this baby. Take it away! the stranger yells, thrusting a baby sling into my hand. I stare, bewildered, not knowing whats happening.
James and I have always lived in harmony. We hardly ever argue. I try to be a proper wife and housewife. We marry while were both undergraduates at Oxford, then I become pregnant and we have twins. As the children grow, we start a small boutique together. I help James only occasionally because Im busy looking after the kids and keeping the house running, especially cooking.
James always expects me to make him something delicious on the weekend. I try to invent a new dish each time, and he is the chief tastetester. The children are always curious about what Mum will cook next. Between the chores, the kids, the shop and the endless errands, I never pause to think about what James does. Id never imagined he could betray me. The past year, however, proves otherwise. Business is slow, and we tighten our belts as best we can. James even has to travel around the country signing new supply contracts. The twins start Year 1, so I stay home with them.
One afternoon, as James and I drive home from the shop, a striking woman steps out of a sleek black car. She walks straight to me, grabs the pram from the passenger seat and shoves it into my hands.
Dont look at me like that! I dont want this baby if it wont be with me. Take it away! she shrieks, pointing a trembling finger at James.
I stand frozen, unable to grasp whats going on.
You promised youd leave her and be with me! If you dont, I wont have this child! she spits, turns on her heel and strides off.
For a few minutes I am shocked, then I realize Im holding a baby sling. I dont ask James anything; his expression tells me who the woman was and that hed rather crumble than speak. Silently we step into the flat. A tiny boy, no older than two weeks, lies swaddled in a soft blanket.
Pick the twins up from school and buy everything I list for the baby, James says, nodding wordlessly.
Eighteen years roll by. Many of my friends judge me, unable to understand why I raise anothers child when I already have two daughters, Charlotte and Olivia. I never question James about the woman. I raise the boy, Thomas, as my own. The girls love having a younger brother. We never hide the truth from Thomas, and when hes an adult we explain the whole story. He takes it calmly, never asking who his biological mother was. I am content. I have three wonderful children who adore us. My relationship with James has frayed, but he does his best to mend it.
On Thomass eighteenth birthday we plan a family gathering. My daughters, now married with their own husbands, travel back home. Just as we sit down at the table, the doorbell rings. We werent expecting anyone, and a knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. Something has been nagging at me all day, and Im right to feel uneasy. I open the hallway and see a slender woman who looks strikingly like the one who handed me my son.
I need to speak with my son, she says.
You have no son here! Thomas and I reply in unison.
Thomas closes the door on her, invites the guests to the table, and I feel tears well up. I am grateful for the wonderful son who, though not born of my womb, fills my life with love.
