I gave my surname to her kids. Now Im stuck supporting them while shes living the high life with their biological father.
Let me tell you how I morphed from the fun bloke to the official cash dispenser for two kids who only text when they want money for the cinema, but somehow forget to send so much as a Christmas card.
It all kicked off three years ago. I met Harriet brilliant woman, divorced, with two kids aged eight and ten. Fell for her, head over heels. I was utterly smitten. She kept saying, over and over:
The kids just absolutely adore you!
And me, the total muppet, I believed her. Of course they loved me I took them to theme parks every weekend without fail.
One day, during one of those profound conversations where people say things that change lives (usually for the worse), Harriet says:
It makes me so sad that the kids dont have their fathers surname. He never did the whole official recognition thing.
And me, in the brightest (read: most idiotic) moment of my life, replied:
Well I could adopt them? They feel like my own, anyway.
You know that moment in movies where time freezes and a voiceover says, It was right then that I knew this was going horribly wrong!?
Yeah, I didnt get that voiceover. Shouldve done.
Harriet burst into happy tears. The kids hugged me. I felt like some sort of hero. A daft hero, but a hero nonetheless.
We went through the whole palaver solicitors, offices, court hearings. The kids officially became Charlotte Taylor and Oliver Taylor with MY surname.
I was buzzing. Harriet was elated. We even threw a makeshift family ceremony with cake.
Six months later. SIX.
Harriet says:
We need to talk Im not sure how to say this, but Daves come back.
Whos Dave? I ask, though obviously I knew.
The kids biological father. Hes changed. Hes matured. He wants his family back.
Speechless. Literally.
So what are you going to do?
Im going to give him a chance. For the kids, you know?
Of course I knew. I knew in that instant, as if someone had pointed out the exit with a giant neon sign.
Harriet, I ADOPTED them. Legally, theyre my kids.
Yes, yeah well sort all that out later. Right now the important thing is for the kids to have their dad.
Well sort it out later.
Like its an overdue TV licence.
Off I trundle to my solicitor. The poor chap nearly chokes on his tea.
You signed full adoption?
Yes.
Well, youre their dad, then. With everything that goes with it maintenance, school, NHS forms, the lot.
But Im not with their mother anymore
Doesnt matter. The law says youre their dad.
So now, here I am I pay maintenance to Harriet, whos living in MY flat with Dave (yes, in MY flat), because the kids need stability and shouldnt be uprooted.
MY flat. Bought and paid for by me. I moved out because, apparently, it was too traumatic for the children otherwise.
The best bit?
Dave the phantom father who didnt contribute a single quid for years now takes them to the park, goes to football matches and is hailed as the family hero.
And me? I get an email from the solicitor every month:
Maintenance payment received: £XXX
With a sad little emoji. Not helpful.
Last month, Oliver messages me:
Hey, could you send some extra cash? Fancy a new pair of trainers.
Cant Dave buy you some?
He says youre my legal dad. Hes only dad in his heart.
Dad in his heart.
How convenient. Im Dad by direct debit.
Apparently, once youve adopted, you can hardly ever undo it. The court would just see me as the heartless bloke trying to abandon his children.
My mates dont even pity me anymore.
Mate, at what point did you decide this was a cracking idea?
I was in love.
Being in love doesnt mean you check your brain at the door, you know.
Fair point.
Now, whenever I see couples with kids that arent theirs, I want to shout:
DONT SIGN ANYTHING! BE THE FUN UNCLE, THE BOYFRIEND, WHATEVER JUST DONT SIGN ANYTHING!
Even my mum just sighed and said,
Love made you silly,
and gave me a hug so tight it hurt.
Yesterday there it is again:
Unexpected expense: school supplies £XXX
Unexpected. Because obviously, school happens with the same frequency as solar eclipses.
Meanwhile Harriet posts photos of her happy family.
The kids with MY surname standing next to the man who disappeared on them.
And for the grand finale?
Charlotte (ten, and yes, she has Instagram now) puts in her bio:
Daughter of Harriet & Dave
Me? Not even a mention.
Im just an anonymous donor funding their lifestyle.
So here I am single, £500 lighter every month, with two kids who only message for money, and the distinct feeling I committed the all-time act of romantic foolishness.
The only small plus? When people ask if Ive got children, I can say yes and reel off this story over dinner. Everyone always laughs.
Me Im just weeping on the inside.
Tell me: have you ever signed anything out of love that wound up costing you dearly or am I the only genius out there who gave away both his surname and his bank account as a special offer?
