Our secret story is now 15 years old. I can share it because my husband already knows, so it’s okay.
Before giving birth, I spent 26 days in the hospital getting support – it felt like a mega-holiday before the sleepless nights began. My roommate was Chloe, a 21-year-old from a modest background, living with her parents. The baby was unplanned, the father wasn’t thrilled, and marriage wasn’t on the table – a typical situation, and she didn’t see it as a disaster. She once mentioned that her mom wanted a granddaughter, while her dad didn’t mind having someone to teach cycling. We talked a lot, got close, and enjoyed snacks together.
One morning during a check-up, the doctor asked her:
– Have you changed your mind?
– No, she answered firmly.
– A nurse will bring the form. By law, you have six months to reconsider.
I had my thoughts but was afraid to ask. Before lunch, a nurse brought the papers, and Chloe filled them out. My head was about to burst from thoughts, and I couldn’t stay silent any longer:
– What is that?
– A waiver.
– Why!? You can raise the child, your parents will help, you’re young and strong. What are you thinking!?
– I can have more kids! Right now is not the right time, and I don’t want this one!
Her response was cold, devoid of grief or pity for the child. No tears fell; she didn’t even look away from me, while I watched, waiting for her to break down, so I could convince her otherwise! But she didn’t cry. What followed was a silent distance between us—no more walks, barely any conversations.
I started dreaming of bringing that child home with me. After the first night of pondering, unsure of where her waiver would end up, I went to my doctor the next morning. I explained everything, and together, we approached the head of the maternity ward. There, I shared my plan. Then we went to the chief doctor, where I finally laid it all out:
– Is there a way to make it look like I gave birth to the baby, and she didn’t even have one? I don’t know how, but can it be completely mine? So I don’t have to explain it to my husband and family—just that I had twins and that’s it! I had severe polyhydramnios, and this idea seemed quite plausible to me.
The doctors’ jaws dropped. The chief doctor rolled his eyes.
– Oh dear! That’s against the law! Do you want me to end up in court because of you?…
– What difference does it make to you?! Come up with something! Please! Even if we have children on different dates, record them with my deliveries! Or will you sell the baby to someone? – That was completely inappropriate, and the offended medical staff showed me the door.
That night Chloe gave birth. I was upset but held onto the hope that God had a good plan for the child. I kept myself from dwelling on it too much to avoid tears, gently rubbing my large belly to comfort myself.
The next evening my labor started. It was a difficult birth. At 6:55, I became the mother of sweet little Amelia.
Right after delivery, while I was still recovering, the chief doctor approached me:
– Have you changed your mind?
It took me a moment to grasp what he was talking about. Once I understood, I shook my head vigorously:
– No! No! No! I haven’t changed my mind!
And that’s how I ended up with twins—Thomas and Amelia. Tommy was a great biter, while Mia was quite lazy, but she gained weight just fine.
I asked the chief doctor how I could help the maternity ward. He scribbled a list and handed it over:
– The more, the better—these things are always in short supply.
I didn’t tell my husband about the twins over the phone. Instead, I asked him to come see us. When he arrived, he wasn’t exactly shocked—he sat down, asked for water, drank it, and then asked:
– So, what about the ultrasound…? Uh, well, now the ultrasound… um, have you named them yet?
– What name would you like?
– Well, we had planned on Amelia, but with this… – he got up suddenly and smiled as if remembering something, – Let’s name him after my granddad—Thomas?
Of course, let’s do that. I cried, and he thought it was from joy. And yes, it was from joy, and the realization of what I was doing, that I was lying to him, that I’d be lying to everyone in two days, it was terrifying.
I have no idea how they arranged everything, but all our paperwork was correct from the outset—from hospital tags to discharge papers.
On April 21st, my children turned 15. We went fishing to celebrate. Thomas received a fishing rod with a reel, and Amelia got a mountain bike. There, I decided I’d tell my husband, but knew I couldn’t do it sober—too scared of the reaction, but with a bit of drink, it seemed less daunting. On the way back, I picked up two bottles of strong wine. To my husband’s surprise, I said, “Well, it’s a celebration.” The kids went to bed late, and I set up a continuation in the kitchen. When there was just a bit left in the second bottle, I told him. Robert listened and then said:
– I don’t believe it.
– Cross my heart! – it was a clumsy, drunken promise, dreadful!
The next evening, he asked again:
– Is it true?
– Yes. – now I wasn’t as bold, my head hung low.
We talked for a long time, and I cried. It felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and Robert understood me.
– You’re something else! Thomas, Amelia, come here! – the kids came over, and I froze. – Your mother is a strong and wise woman! Treat her with care, he said, smiling kindly.
