Dont stare at me like that! I dont want this baby if it wont be with me. Take it away! the stranger shouted, thrusting a baby carrier into my hands. I could not fathom what was happening.
James and I had always lived in harmony. We scarcely ever argued. I tried my best to be a proper wife and housewife. We married while still at university, then I became pregnant and we welcomed twins. When the children were a bit older we started a small shop in Manchester. I helped James only occasionally, as my days were filled with the kids and the household. I especially loved cooking.
Every weekend James expected me to delight him with something tasty. I kept inventing new dishes, and he was the chief tastetester. The children were always curious about what I would be making that night. Amid all the chores, the children, the home, and the business, I never paid attention to what James was doing. I never imagined he could betray me. The truth was that the past year had been very hard. The shop was struggling, and James and I scrimped as much as we could. He even had to travel around the country signing new supply contracts. The twins started Year1, so I stayed at home with them.
One afternoon, as James and I were driving back from work, a stunning woman stepped out of the road. We stopped the car, and the stranger rushed toward me, pressing a baby stroller into my grip.
Dont look at me like that! I dont want this child if it isnt meant to be with me. Take it away! she screeched, pointing a finger at James.
I stood there, bewildered.
You promised to leave her and be with me! If you wont, I wont keep this child! she spat at my feet, turned on her heel and walked off.
For a few minutes I was frozen, until I realized I was holding a baby carrier. I didnt ask James anything; his expression told me who the woman was and that he felt as if he might collapse. Silently we entered our flat. Inside lay a tiny boy in a wrap, no more than two weeks old.
Pick up the twins from school and buy everything I list for the baby, James said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Eighteen years have passed since that day. Many of my friends judged me, unable to understand why I would raise anothers child when I already had two daughtersLucy and Claire. I never asked James about the woman. I raised the boy, Oliver, as my own. The girls were delighted to have a younger brother. We never hid the truth from Oliver; when he grew up we explained the whole story. He accepted it calmly, never asking for his biological mother. I was happy. I had three wonderful children who loved us. My marriage with James has never been perfect, but he does his best to mend it.
On Olivers eighteenth birthday we gathered the family for a celebration. My daughters, now married and living in separate towns, travelled to be with us. As we were about to sit down, the doorbell rang. We werent expecting anyone, and a nervous feeling settled over me. Something had been uneasy all day, and I was right. When I opened the hallway, a slender woman who looked just like the one who had handed us the carrier stood there.
Id like to speak with my son, she said.
You have no son here, James and I answered in unison.
Oliver closed the door, invited everyone to the table, and I felt tears well up. I was grateful for the wonderful son I had, even though he was not born of my womb.
In the end, I learned that family is not defined by blood alone; it is forged by love, choice, and the willingness to open your heart to those who need it.
