Dont stare at me like that! I dont want this baby. Take it away! the stranger yelled, thrusting a baby carrier into my hand. I had no idea what was happening.
James and I had always lived in harmony. Arguments were rare. I tried to be a proper wife and housewife. Wed married while studying at university, then I got pregnant and we had twins. When the children were a bit older we started a small family business. I only helped James now and then, because I had to look after the kids and keep the house in order. Cooking was my favourite pastime.
Every weekend James expected me to make him something delicious. I kept trying new recipes, and he was the chief tastetester. The children were always curious about what Mum would be cooking that day. Amid all the chores, the kids, the household and the work, I never paid much attention to what James did. I never imagined he could betray me. The truth was that the past year had been hard for us. The shop wasnt doing well, and James and I scrimped for every penny. He even had to travel across the country signing new supply contracts. The kids were in Year1, so I was at home with them.
One afternoon, as James and I were driving home from the office, a striking woman stepped out of a sleek black car. We got out, and the stranger walked straight to me, pressing a pram into my hands.
Dont look at me like that! I dont want this baby if it wont stay with me. Take it away! she shrieked, pointing a finger at James.
I stood frozen, bewildered.
You promised to leave her and be with me! If you wont, I wont keep this child! she spat at my feet, turned on her heel and disappeared.
For a few heartstopping minutes I stared at the carrier in my grip. I didnt ask James; his expression told me everything who that woman was and that he was on the brink of collapse. Silently we entered the flat. Inside lay a tiny boy swaddled in a cloth, no more than two weeks old.
Pick the kids up from school and buy everything I list for the baby, James murmured, nodding without words.
Eighteen years have passed since then. Many of my friends judged me, unable to understand why Id raise a strangers child when I already had two daughters.
I never questioned James about that woman. I raised the boy as my own. The girls were delighted to have a younger brother. We never hid the truth from him; when he grew up we explained the whole story. He took it with surprising calm, never asking who his birth mother was. I was content. I had three wonderful children who loved us. My marriage with James has frayed, but he still does his best to mend it.
On the day my son Thomas turned eighteen, we planned a family gathering. My daughters, now married with their own husbands and living elsewhere, were on their way. We were just about to sit down when the doorbell rang. No extra guests had been expected, and a knot of unease tightened in my stomach. I was right to be nervous. As I stepped into the hallway, I saw a slender woman who looked exactly like the one who had handed me the baby.
I need to speak with my son, she said.
You dont have a son here, Thomas and I replied in unison.
Thomas closed the door on her, then invited everyone to the table. Tears welled in my eyes. I was grateful for the incredible son Id raised, even if he wasnt mine by blood.
