Our secret story is 15 years old now. I’m going to share it because my husband already knows, so it’s okay.
Before giving birth, I spent 26 days in the hospital for observation – it felt like an extended holiday before the sleepless nights began. Sharing the room with me was Hannah, a 21-year-old charming young woman of modest means. She lived with her parents, hadn’t planned on having a child, and the father wasn’t thrilled or proposing – just an ordinary situation for her, which she didn’t view as catastrophic, so we didn’t really talk about it. She only mentioned once that her mother hoped for a granddaughter, while her father didn’t mind teaching anyone to ride a bike. We talked a lot, grew close, and indulged in treats together.
One morning, during a check-up, the doctor asked her:
“Have you changed your mind?”
“No,” came her firm reply.
“The nurse will bring you the forms. By law, you’ll have six months to reconsider.”
I had a lot on my mind but hesitated to ask. Before lunch, the nurse brought in the papers for Hannah to fill out. My head was spinning with thoughts, and I couldn’t keep silent any longer:
“What’s that?”
“Relinquishment form.”
“Why? You’ll grow up, your parents will help, you’re young and strong. What are you thinking?”
“I can have more! Now’s just not the right time, I don’t need this!”
Her answer was cold, lacking sorrow or pity for the baby. There were no tears; she didn’t even turn away from me. I kept watching, waiting for her to cry so I could persuade her otherwise, but she never did. We stopped going for walks together and barely talked.
I began dreaming of adopting that baby myself. The morning after a sleepless night, unsure of where her application would go, I approached my doctor. I explained everything and we went to speak to the head of the maternity ward. There, I repeated my story. We went to the chief doctor. Only then did I voice everything:
“Is there a way to make it so I’m listed as the baby’s mother and she… didn’t give birth? I don’t know how, but to make it completely mine? So I wouldn’t have to explain anything to my husband or family, just say I had twins and that’s it!” I had significant fluid retention, so the idea seemed perfect to me.
The doctors were speechless. The chief doctor rolled his eyes.
“What are you suggesting, dear? That would break the law! I can’t risk a court case because of you…”
“What difference does it make to you? Please think of something! Even if we give birth on different dates, record it with my delivery! Or are you going to give the baby to someone else?” I realized I’d gone too far, and the offended medical staff asked me to leave.
That night, Hannah gave birth. I was disheartened, but I hoped the Lord had a good plan for that baby. I didn’t let myself dwell on it too much, to avoid tears, and instead gently stroked my large belly to comfort myself.
The next evening, I went into labor. It was a tough delivery. At 6:55, I became a mom to Julia, my little darling. Right after I delivered, still sore and tired, the chief doctor approached me:
“Have you changed your mind?”
At first, I didn’t understand what he meant. When I did, I shook my head:
“No! No! No! I haven’t changed my mind!”
And that’s how I ended up with twins – Daniel and Julia. Daniel was a voracious eater, while Julia was quite lazy, yet she gained weight well.
I asked the chief doctor how I could help the maternity ward. He jotted down a list and said:
“The more, the better, this is always in shortage.”
I didn’t tell my husband about the twins over the phone. I just asked him to come and see us. When he saw them, he didn’t just gulp – he sat down on a chair, asked for water, drank, and then asked:
“What about the ultrasound? Hmm, you already named them?”
“What do you want?”
“Well, we planned on Julia, but now…” He stood up suddenly, smiling as if recalling something. “Let’s name him Daniel, after my grandfather?”
Of course, we would. I cried, and he thought it was from joy. It was both joy and the fear of lying to him and everyone else, knowing the truth would come out in two days.
I have no idea how they sorted out the paperwork, but everything was given to us correctly from the start – from ID tags to the discharge papers from the hospital.
On April 21st, my children turned 15. We went fishing to celebrate. Daniel received a fishing rod, and Julia got a mountain bike. I decided I’d tell my husband then – sober, I couldn’t do it; I feared his reaction, but with some wine, it felt less daunting. On our way back, I picked up two bottles of stronger wine. In response to my husband’s surprise, I said, “It’s a celebration, isn’t it?”
The kids went to bed late, and I set the table in the kitchen for a continued celebration. When there was just a bit left in the second bottle, I told him. James listened and then said:
“I don’t believe it.”
“Cross my heart!” – what a crooked, drunken cross, awful!
The next evening, he asked again:
“Is it true?”
“Yes,” I was less brave now, my head hanging down.
We talked for a long time, and I cried. It felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders, and my husband understood me.
“Well, you… are something else! Daniel, Julia, come here!” The kids approached, and I froze. “Your mother is a strong and wise woman! You should be careful with her,” he said, smiling warmly.
