“Don’t look at me like that! I dont want this child. Take it!” a stranger thrust a baby carrier into my hands before I could even react. I stood there, stunned, not understanding what was happening.
My husband and I had always gotten along well. We rarely argued, and I did my best to be a good wife and homemaker. We married young, while still at university. Soon after, I fell pregnant and gave birth to twins. Once the children were older, we started a small business together. I only helped occasionally, as I was busy raising the kids and managing the house. Cooking was my passion. My husband would eagerly await the weekends, when Id spoil him with something delicious. I loved experimenting with new recipes, and he was always my first taster. The children, too, would wonder what Mum had whipped up this time.
Between the children, the house, and the business, I never paid much attention to my husbands movements. It never crossed my mind that he might betray me. The past year had been particularly hardthe business struggled, and we tightened our belts wherever possible. My husband even had to travel across the country to secure new sales contracts. The twins had just started Year One, so I stayed home with them.
One evening, as we returned from work, a beautiful woman intercepted us in the driveway. Before I could react, she shoved the baby carrier into my arms.
“Dont look at me like that! I dont need this child if he wont be with me. Take it!” she screamed, jabbing a finger at my husband.
I stood frozen, confusion washing over me.
“You promised youd leave her for me! If you wont, then I dont want this baby!” With that, she spat at my feet, turned on her heel, and stormed off.
It took me minutes to process what had just happened. The baby in the carrier couldnt have been more than two weeks old. I didnt ask my husband anythinghis expression told me everything. Silently, we went inside.
“Pick up the girls from school and buy everything on this list for the baby,” I said. He nodded without a word.
Eighteen years have passed since that day. Many of my friends judged me, unable to understand why Id raise another womans child when I already had two daughters. I never asked my husband about the woman. Instead, I raised the boy as my own. The girls adored their little brother, and we never hid the truth from him. When he was old enough, we explained everything. To my surprise, he took it calmlyhe never even asked about his birth mother.
I was happy. I had three wonderful children who loved us. My husband and I drifted apart after the incident, but he tried his best to mend things.
On our sons eighteenth birthday, we planned a family celebration. My daughters, now married and living elsewhere, were due to arrive. Just as we were about to sit down, the doorbell rang. Id been uneasy all dayand I was right to be. When I answered, a thin woman stood there, eerily familiar.
“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 and ushered us back to the table. Tears welled in my eyes. I was happyso happyto have such a remarkable son, even if he wasnt mine by blood.
