After several years of infertility, we adopted Sam, a sweet three-year-old baby boy with blue eyes. But when my husband went to bathe Sam, he ran out of the house screaming, ‘We have to get him back!’. His panic made no sense until I noticed the distinctive mark on Sam’s paw.
I never expected the return of my adopted son to destroy the fabric of my marriage. But now, looking back, I realise that some gifts come with heartache, and sometimes the universe has a warped sense of timing.
‘Are you nervous?’ I asked Mark as we drove to the agency.
My hands were frantically clutching the tiny blue jumper I’d bought for Sam, our future son. The fabric was incredibly soft, and I imagined how his little shoulders would be snug against it.
‘Я? No,’ Mark replied, but his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. ‘Just want to hit the road soon. Traffic is making me nervous.’
He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, a nervous tic I’d been noticing more and more often lately.
‘You’ve checked the car seat three times,’ he added with a forced chuckle. ‘Pretty sure you’re the one who’s nervous.’
‘Of course I’m nervous!’ I smoothed out my jumper again. ‘We’ve waited so long for this.
The adoption process had been gruelling, mostly handled by me while Mark focused on his burgeoning business.
Endless paperwork, home research, and interviews consumed my life for months as I searched agency lists for a baby. We had originally planned to adopt an infant, but the waiting lists stretched endlessly and I began to expand our options.
That’s how I found a picture of Sam, a three-year-old boy with eyes like the summer sky and a smile that could melt glaciers.
His mother had abandoned him, and something in those eyes spoke directly to my heart. Maybe it was a hint of sadness behind his smile, or maybe it was fate.
‘Look at this little guy,’ I said to Mark one evening, showing him the picture on my tablet. A blue glow lit up his face as he studied the photo.
He smiled so gently that I realised: he wanted this boy as much as I did. ‘He looks like a great kid. Those eyes are something else.’
‘But can we handle a baby boy?’
‘Of course we can handle it! No matter how old the baby is, I know you’ll be a great mum.’ He squeezed my shoulder as I looked at the picture.
We filled out the application and, after what seemed like an eternity, we went to the agency to take Sam home. The social worker, Miss Chen, led us into a small playroom where Sam sat building a tower of blocks.
‘Sam,’ she said softly, ’remember that cute couple we talked about? They’re here.’
I knelt down next to him, my heart thundering. ‘Hey, Sam. I like your tower. Can I help?’
He studied me for a long moment, nodded, and handed me a red block. That simple gesture felt like the beginning of everything.
The drive home was peaceful. Sam clutched the stuffed elephant we’d brought him and occasionally made little trumpet noises that made Mark giggle. I looked back at him in the car seat every now and then, hardly believing he was real.
At home, I started unpacking Sam’s few belongings. His little suitcase seemed incredibly light to hold the baby’s entire world.
‘I can give him a bath,’ Mark offered from the doorstep. ‘That will give you a chance to set up his room the way you want it.’
‘Great idea!’ I gushed, thinking how wonderful it was that Mark immediately wanted to bond. ‘Don’t forget the bath toys I got for him.
They disappeared down the corridor and I hummed, arranging Sam’s clothes in his new dresser. Every tiny sock and t-shirt made it feel more real. The peace lasted exactly forty-seven seconds.
‘WE HAVE TO GET HIM BACK!’
Mark’s shout came over me like a physical blow.
He jumped out of the bathroom as I ran into the hall. Mark’s face was ghostly white.
‘What do you mean, bring him back?’ I struggled to keep my voice steady, gripping the door frame. ‘We just adopted him! It’s not like he’s a jumper from the shop!’
Mark paced the corridor, running his hands through his hair, his breathing ragged. ‘I just realised… I can’t do this. I can’t treat it as my own. It was a mistake.’
‘Why do you say that?’ My voice cracked like thin ice.
‘Until a few hours ago, you were ecstatic! You were making elephant noises with him in the car!’
‘I don’t know, it just hit me. I can’t get close to him.’ He wouldn’t look me in the eye, staring at a point somewhere behind my shoulder. His hands were trembling.
‘You’re heartless!’ I snapped at him, pushing past him into the bathroom.
Sam sat in the bathroom, small and confused, wearing only socks and boots. He was clutching his elephant tightly to his chest.
‘Hey mate,’ I said, forcing my voice to sound cheerful while my world crumbled. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we? Maybe Mr Elephant wants a bath too?’
Sam shook his head. ‘He’s afraid of water.’
‘That’s okay. He can watch from here.’ I set the toy on the counter. ‘Hands up!’
As I helped Sam undress, I noticed something that made my heart sink.
Sam had a distinctive birthmark on his left leg. I had already seen the exact same spot on Mark’s leg during countless summer days at the pool. Same unique curve, same location.
My hands shook as I bathed Sam and my thoughts raced.
‘You have magic bubbles,’ Sam said, poking his finger into the foam I’d barely had time to add to the water.
‘Those are special bubbles,’ I murmured as I watched him play. His smile, which had seemed so unique, was now similar to my husband’s.
That night, after tucking Sam into his new bed, I met Mark in our bedroom. The distance between us on the king-sized mattress seemed endless.
‘The birthmark on his leg is identical to yours.’
Mark froze in place, taking off his watch, then let out a chuckle that sounded like the clinking of broken glass. ‘Pure coincidence. Lots of people have moles.’
‘I want you to take a DNA test.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snarled, looking away. ‘You’re letting your imagination run wild. It’s been a busy day.’
But his reaction told me everything. The next day, while Mark was at work, I took a few strands of hair from his comb and sent them off for analysis, along with a swab taken from Sam’s cheek while he was brushing his teeth. I told him we were checking for tooth decay.
The wait was agonising. Mark became increasingly distant, spending more and more time in the office. Meanwhile, Sam and I were growing closer.
Within days he started calling me ‘Mum’ and every time he did, my heart filled with love, even if it ached with uncertainty.
We developed a routine: morning pancakes, bedtime stories and afternoon walks to the park where he collected ‘treasures’ (leaves and interesting rocks) for his windowsill.
When the results came back a fortnight later, they confirmed what I had guessed. Mark was Sam’s biological father. I sat at the kitchen table staring at the paper until the words blurred, hearing Sam’s laughter coming from the backyard where he was playing with his new bubble wand.
‘It was one night,’ Mark finally admitted when I told him the outcome. ‘I was drunk, at a conference. I never knew… I never thought…’ He reached for me, his face crinkling. ‘Please, we can work this out. I’ll make it right.’
I stepped back, my voice turning icy. ‘You knew it as soon as you saw the mole. That’s why you panicked.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, sinking into a kitchen chair. ‘When I saw it in the bathroom, it all came back. That woman… I never got her name. I was ashamed, I tried to forget…’
‘The accident four years ago when I was undergoing fertility treatment? Crying every month when they didn’t work?’ Each question made my throat feel like glass in my throat.
The next morning I visited a lawyer, a sharp-witted woman named Janet, who listened to me without judgement. She confirmed what I had hoped: my status as Sam’s adoptive mother gave me parental rights. Mark’s previously unknown paternity did not give him automatic custody rights.
‘I’m filing for divorce,’ I told Mark that evening, when Sam was already asleep. ‘And I want full custody of Sam.’
‘Amanda, please…’
‘His mother had already disowned him, and you were ready to do the same,’ I interjected. ‘I’m not going to let that happen.’
His face crinkled. ‘I love you.’
‘Not enough to admit it. I think you loved yourself more.’
Mark didn’t fight back, and the divorce proceedings went quickly. Sam adjusted better than I expected, though sometimes he asked why Dad didn’t live with us anymore.
‘Sometimes adults make mistakes,’ I told him, stroking his hair. ‘But that doesn’t mean they don’t love you.’ It was the kindest truth I could offer.
Years have passed since then, and Sam has grown into a wonderful young man. Mark sends birthday cards and occasionally writes emails, but keeps his distance – that’s his choice, not mine.
Sometimes people ask me if I regret not leaving when I found out the truth. I always shake my head.
Sam wasn’t just a foster child anymore, he was my son by biology and betrayal. Love isn’t always easy, but it’s always a choice. I vowed never to give him away, except to his bride-to-be, of course.
Here’s another story: Despite being a single mother, I had to help an elderly woman I found in the cold on Christmas Eve. I had no idea that my simple act of kindness would result in a mysterious luxury SUV showing up at my door – or heal my broken heart. Click here to read more.
