“My husband yelled, ‘We have to return him,’ when he attempted to bathe the three-year-old boy we adopted for the first time.”
Ten years have passed since my marriage. We made the decision to adopt after attempting to conceive for many long years. I handled everything myself as my husband was unable to participate due to his hectic work schedule. I called the agencies, completed the necessary paperwork, and looked over the profiles of the kids in need of a home.
We initially intended to adopt a baby, but the demand was too great. Then, one day, I saw a picture of a three-year-old boy whose mother had left him. I was taken by his large blue eyes right away.
My spouse fell in love with the child after I showed him the picture. We gave him the name Sam. Following extensive deliberation, we felt prepared to make this significant move.
Sam came to our house a month after the legalities were completed. I was ecstatic! In an attempt to build a relationship with him, my husband, who was obviously thrilled about the prospect of becoming a parent, even offered to give him his first bath. I was overjoyed to see him participate.
But he ran out in a panic, yelling, “We have to return him!” less than a minute after he and Sam had entered the bathroom.
It seemed impossible to explain his terror until I discovered something odd.
The Path to Adoption
“Are you experiencing anxiety?” As we drove to the agency, I questioned Mark. I held onto a tiny blue sweater I had purchased particularly for Sam, picturing how perfectly it would fit and provide gentle warmth to his delicate shoulders.
“Me? “Not at all,” he said, while his firm grip on the steering wheel revealed his composed exterior. “I only hope that everything happens without a hitch. I can’t stand this traffic.
I had observed a tic in him recently, and he was pounding the dashboard with increasing anxiousness.
I smiled gently and added, “You’ve checked the car seat a dozen times.” “I believe that you are the most anxious person.”
“Obviously, I’m anxious!” I said, stroking the fabric of the sweater. “This day has been long anticipated.”
Getting to know Sam
The adoption process was draining; Mark immersed himself in his profession while spending endless hours doing paperwork, conducting house inspections, and conducting interviews. I spent a lot of time on the agency website looking for the ideal child’s picture because of this. Then I met Sam, a young boy with a smile that could melt ice and eyes the color of summer sky. I noticed not only despair but also an enigmatic strength in his eyes when his mother abandoned him.
I showed Mark the picture on the tablet one evening. A gentle smile spread across his face. He is a lovely youngster. Those eyes are truly unique.
However, questions began to arise: “Will we be good enough?” I inquired.
He squeezed my shoulder and comforted me, “Of course.” “I am confident that you will be a fantastic mother, regardless of his age.”
The Initial Consultation
Following all the formalities, we were greeted by Mrs. Chen, the social worker, who showed us to a little playroom. There, surrounded by vibrant blocks, Sam was diligently constructing a tower.
Do you recall the pleasant couple we discussed, Sam? “They’re here,” Mrs. Chen replied quietly.
My heart was racing as I knelt next to him. “Hey Sam, that skyscraper is fantastic! Do you want assistance?
After giving me a lengthy look, he nodded and gave me a red block. Something big seemed to start with that little gesture.
The First Crack and Home
Sam made small, amusing noises that made Mark grin as he silently embraced his plush elephant on the walk home. It was unbelievable to me that we now had this frail little boy. I started unloading his little possessions at home. He came with a little bag that didn’t seem heavy enough to contain a whole childhood.
Mark said, “I’ll give him his bath.” “You can complete arranging his room.”
“That’s great, don’t forget the bath toys,” I cheerfully answered.
However, the happiness lasted for just 47 seconds.
From the restroom came a deafening scream. As I dashed along the hall, I noticed Mark running out, looking as pale as a ghost.
“What does’return him’ mean? He was recently adopted by us! You can’t return him to the store! I refrained from crying.
Mark breathed heavily as he moved uneasily and ran his hands through his hair.
“I understand that I cannot acknowledge him as my son. “It was an error,” he murmured, averting my eyes.
What I was hearing was unbelievable. “Only a few hours ago, you were imitating the elephant noises in the car while laughing with him! Why now?
“I’m not sure… “I can’t connect with him,” he muttered, his eyes downcast and shaking.
I entered the restroom. Bewildered, Sam was nearly completely clothed, save for his shoes and socks. He held on to his elephant.
Through the anguish, I said, “Hey sweetheart,” with a smile. “All right, let’s clean you up. Perhaps Mr. Elephant would like to come as well.
“He’s scared of water,” Sam muttered.
I put the toy on the shelf and said, “That’s okay, he can just watch.” Then, in an attempt to revive some happiness, I gave him a gentle wash.
I saw a birthmark on his tiny calf that was exactly the same as the one I had seen on Mark’s leg back at the pool in the summer. My head was filled with unsettling ideas, and my heart was pounding.
“You have magic bubbles,” Sam exclaimed, patting the foam I had added with delight.
As I watched him play, I muttered, “They’re special bubbles.” His smile was oddly familiar.
Truth and Transformation
After putting Sam to bed late that evening, I discovered Mark in our room. It felt like a canyon between us on the bed.
I mutely remarked, “The birthmark on his leg is exactly like yours.”
Mark paused, took off his watch, and uttered a raspy laugh, saying, “It’s just a coincidence.” Many people are born with birthmarks.
I firmly stated, “I want a DNA test.”
He yelled, “That’s absurd,” and turned away. You’re using your imagination excessively. It has been a challenging day.
However, his response was very telling. Under the guise of a dental examination, I surreptitiously took a sample of Sam’s saliva while he was brushing his teeth and a few strands of his hair from his brush the following day when Mark was at work.
It was excruciating to wait for the findings. I became closer to Sam, while Mark became more aloof and spent the entire day at the office. He started referring to me as “mom” a few days later, and despite the ambiguity, I always felt comforted when he said it.
We established a routine as a family that included bedtime reading, morning pancakes, and visits in the park where he would gather small treasures like leaves and rocks for his windowsill.
My suspicion that Mark was Sam’s biological father was validated by the results two weeks later. While I was sitting at the kitchen table looking at the paper, I could hear Sam playing with his bubble wand outdoors and laughing.
“It was one night,” Mark finally admitted. At a meeting, I was intoxicated. I had no idea. I never imagined that would occur. His face contorted in agony, he reached out. “Please, let’s attempt to resolve this. I swear that I will change.
“You panicked when you saw that birthmark,” I said, taking a step back and speaking in a cool tone. You ran for that reason.
He murmured, “Pardon me,” and sagged into a chair. It all returned when I saw him in the bathtub. That lady… Not even her name comes to mind. I tried to forget because I felt so embarrassed.
“When I was undergoing fertility therapy four years ago? Weeping every month over failure? Each utterance was a blade.
I spoke with Janet, a skilled attorney, the following day, and she verified that I was legally Sam’s adopted mother and had all of his parental rights. Legal custody was not granted to Mark.
As Sam slept well that night, I informed Mark, “I’m filing for divorce and seeking sole custody of Sam.”
I responded sternly, “His mother already left him—and you nearly did the same.” “I refuse to allow our son to be left behind a second time.”
Mark’s head dropped. “I cherish you.”
“Love that is incapable of being sincere is meaningless. All you ever loved was yourself.
Mark remained silent. It was a swift divorce. Despite everything, Sam adapted well, albeit occasionally he questioned why his father had left us.
I would caress his hair and say, “Adults make mistakes sometimes, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”
I told him the nicest truth I could.
An Upcoming Chapter
As the years went by, Sam developed into a fantastic young man. Mark occasionally writes and sends cards, but he chooses to keep a distance, not me.
I’m frequently asked if I regret not leaving after learning the truth. I give a headshake.
Despite the biological intricacy and the treachery, Sam is now my son and no longer an adoptive child.
Love always requires a decision, but it’s never easy.
I promised him that I would never leave him, possibly with the exception of his future bride.
