We adopted a three-year-old boy — when my husband first went to bathe him, he cried out, ‘We have to give him back!’
I could never have imagined that bringing our adopted son home would turn my marriage upside down.
But looking back, I realise that some gifts come wrapped in sadness, and the universe sometimes has a very cruel sense of irony.
‘Are you nervous?’ I asked Mark as we drove to the agency.
My fingers played with the little blue jumper I had bought for Sam, our future son. The fabric was incredibly soft, and I could already imagine how it would hug his little shoulders.
‘Me? No,’ Mark replied, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel. ‘I’m just eager to get everything sorted out. This traffic is driving me crazy.’
He tapped the dashboard, a nervous tic I had been noticing more and more often.
‘You’ve checked the car seat three times,’ he added with a nervous laugh. ‘Looks like you’re the most stressed out one here.’
‘Of course!’ I replied, smoothing my jumper again. ‘We’ve been waiting so long for this moment.’
The adoption process had been exhausting — and, to be honest, I had done everything myself while Mark focused on his growing business.
Mountains of paperwork, home visits, endless interviews… it had taken over my life for months.
At first, we wanted to adopt a newborn, but the waiting list was endless. So I started to broaden our criteria.
And so I stumbled upon a photo of Sam, a three-year-old boy with summer-coloured eyes and a smile that could melt any heart.
His mother had abandoned him, and something in his gaze pierced me. Perhaps it was the sadness hidden behind his smile. Or maybe it was just fate.
‘Look at this little boy,’ I said to Mark one evening, showing him the photo on my tablet.
The blue light illuminated his face as he stared at it for a long time.
He smiled softly. ‘He looks adorable. And those eyes…’
‘But… can we handle a child this age?’
‘Of course! No matter the age, you’ll be an amazing mum.’
He put his hand on my shoulder, and I knew: this was the one.
We completed the process, and after what seemed like an eternity, we went to pick up Sam.
The social worker, Mrs. Chen, led us to a small playroom where Sam was building a tower out of blocks.
‘Sam,’ she said quietly, ‘do you remember the nice couple I told you about? They’re here.’
I knelt down next to him, my heart pounding.
‘Hello, Sam. I really like your tower. Would you like me to help you?’
He looked at me for a long time, then nodded and held out a red block.
That small gesture seemed enormous to me: it was the beginning of everything.
The journey home was peaceful and quiet.
Sam held a stuffed elephant in his hands, occasionally making little roaring sounds that made Mark laugh.
I kept turning around to look at him, still not believing that he was finally with us.
At home, I began to unpack his things. The small bag seemed too light to contain a child’s entire life.
‘I can bathe him,’ Mark offered from the doorway. ‘That will give you time to set up his room.’
‘Great idea!’ I replied, happy that he was trying to connect. ‘Don’t forget the bath toys I bought.’
They disappeared into the hallway. I was folding his clothes when suddenly a scream rang out through the house.
Mark rushed out of the hallway, pale as a sheet.
‘We need to return him!’ he shouted.
I froze.
‘What?! How can we return him? He’s not a jumper from Target!’
He paced back and forth, his hands shaking.
“I… I just realised I can’t do this. I can’t be his father. It was a mistake.”
‘Why are you saying that?!’ My voice broke. ‘You were all smiles just a moment ago!’
‘I don’t know… It’s like… I can’t take him in.’
He wasn’t looking at me anymore. His breathing was ragged.
‘You’re heartless!’ I shouted and rushed into the bathroom.
Sam was sitting in the bathtub, still fully clothed except for his shoes and socks.
He was holding the elephant tightly, his eyes wide open.
‘Hello, my big boy,’ I said with feigned enthusiasm, ‘let’s go for a bath, shall we? Does Mr Elephant want to come in the bath too?’
‘No, he’s afraid of water.’
‘Then he’ll watch from here.’
I put the toy on the sink. ‘Come on, raise your arms!’
And then I saw it.
The birthmark on his left leg.
Exactly the same as Mark’s.
My heart stopped.
I continued to bathe Sam mechanically, my head full of questions.
Sam laughed, playing with the bubbles.
‘Your bubbles are magical,’ he said, poking the foam with his finger.
‘Yes, very special,’ I whispered, unable to take my eyes off that leg.
That evening, after putting Sam to bed, I decided to talk to Mark.
‘The mark on his leg… it’s exactly the same as yours.’
Mark froze.
Then he tried to laugh: ‘Coincidence. Thousands of people have birthmarks.’
‘I want a DNA test.’
‘That’s ridiculous! You’re crazy.’
But his averted gaze told me everything.
The next day, while he was at work, I took some hair from his brush and a sample of Sam’s saliva under the pretext of checking his teeth.
Two weeks later, the verdict came back: Mark was Sam’s biological father.
When I showed him the results, he broke down.
‘It was… just one night, I was drunk, at a conference… I never knew…’
‘Just one night? While I was undergoing procedures to get pregnant? While I was crying every month because of my failures?!’
The next day, I made an appointment with a solicitor.
She confirmed that legally I was Sam’s adoptive mother — Mark had no right to demand anything.
That evening, I told him coldly:
‘I’m filing for divorce. And full custody of Sam.’
He lowered his head. ‘I love you.’
‘Not enough to tell the truth.’
He didn’t argue. The divorce went quickly.
Sam got used to it, although he sometimes asked why his dad no longer lived with us.
‘Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes,’ I explained. ‘But that doesn’t mean they don’t love you.’
Years passed. Sam grew into a wonderful young man.
Mark sends a birthday card every year, a few emails… but he keeps his distance.
When people ask me if I regret not leaving that day, I always say no.
Because Sam is not ‘the child I adopted.’
He is my son.
Blood, lies, nothing else matters.
True love is not a matter of genetics. It is a choice to stay, to protect and to love no matter what.
