“Dont look at me like that! I dont want this child. Take it!”the stranger simply thrust the baby carrier into my hands. I stood there, bewildered, unable to grasp what was happening.
My husband and I had always lived in harmony, rarely quarrelling. I did my best to be a dutiful wife and homemaker. We married young, while still at university. Soon after, I fell pregnant and gave birth to twins. Once the children were older, we started a small business. I helped my husband occasionally, but my days were filled with caring for the children and keeping house. Above all, I adored cooking. My husband always looked forward to weekends, when I would treat him to something delicious. I took pride in inventing new dishes, and he was my chief taster. The children, too, would eagerly ask what Id prepared for them.
With all the busyness of children, home, and work, I never paid much mind to what my husband did. It never crossed my thoughts that the man I trusted could betray me. Yet the past year had been difficult. Business was slow, and we scrimped wherever we could. My husband even travelled across the country, securing new sales contracts. The twins had just started primary school, so I stayed home with them.
One evening, as we returned from work, a striking woman startled us. We had barely stepped out of the car when the stranger rushed toward me and shoved the baby carrier into my arms.
“Dont look at me like that!” she snapped, wild-eyed. “I dont want this child if he wont stay with me. Take it!” She jabbed a finger at my husband.
I stood frozen, uncomprehending.
“You promised youd leave her for me!” Her voice cracked. “If you wont, then I wont keep this child!” With that, she spat at my feet, turned on her heel, and stormed off.
The shock held me for minutes until I realised I was clutching the carrier. I didnt need to ask my husband anythinghis ashen face told me everything. In silence, we entered our home. Inside the carrier lay a boy, no more than two weeks old.
“Youll fetch the girls from school,” I said stiffly, “and buy everything I write down for the child.” My husband nodded, wordless.
Eighteen years have passed since then. Many of my acquaintances condemned me, unable to fathom why Id raise another womans child when I already had two daughters.
I never asked my husband about the woman. I raised the boy as my own. The girls adored their little brother, and we never hid the truth from him. When he was old enough, we explained everything. To my surprise, he took it calmly, never once asking after his birth mother. And I was contentI had three wonderful children who loved us. My husband and I grew distant for a time, but he did his best to mend things.
On our sons eighteenth birthday, we gathered as a family to celebrate. My daughters, now married and living apart, were due to arrive. Just as we were about to sit down to dinner, the doorbell rang. We werent expecting anyone else, and unease prickled at meId felt unsettled all day. When I stepped into the hall, I saw a gaunt woman who bore a chilling resemblance to the one whod handed me her son all those years ago.
“Ive come to speak to my son,” she announced.
“You have no son here,” my boy and I answered together.
Without another word, he shut the door and ushered us back to the table. Tears welled in my eyes. My heart swelled with joyI had been blessed with such a son, even if he wasnt mine by blood.
