The Anger of Matthew
When we returned from the hospital with the baby in our arms, Matthew was waiting in the parlour, arms crossed and brow furrowed. He was only eight years old, but his expression seemed far older. For months, he had been excited about his sisters arrival, but now that she was here, something had shifted.
“Is she here?” he asked, not moving closer, his voice stiff and distant.
“Yes, love. Come and meet your little sister,” I said, holding out the tiny bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket.
But he didnt budge. He stood there, watching us from afar as if we were strangers.
“She came from Mums belly,” he muttered, looking down. “I didnt. Im not like her.”
The words struck me like a blow to the chest. For three years, we had spoken openly about his adoption, always celebrating it. I thought he understood, that he felt secure. But the babys arrival had stirred something unexpected.
“Matthew”
“The boys at school said youll love her more now because shes your real daughter!” he burst out, tears streaming down his face. “And that Im just borrowed!”
Before I could reply, he flung himself to the floor dramatically.
“I dont want her! Take her back to the hospital!” he shouted, kicking at the sofa. “I was here first! I was your only child!”
The baby began to cry at the noise. Matthew only grew more upset.
“See! Shes crying already, and I didnt even do anything! Youll always blame me now!” he sobbed, pounding his fists against the floor.
My heart shattered, but I knew I had to stay calm. I handed the baby to my wife and knelt beside him, not touching him yet.
“Matthew, I understand youre angry,” I said gently. “Do you know the difference between you and her?”
“That shes better than me!” he wailed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “That you made her, and I was just found because my real parents didnt want me!”
“No, love. Thats not true,” I replied, my throat tightening.
“It is!” he shrieked, turning his back to me. “And now youll throw out my toys to make room for hers! Youll give her my bedroom too!”
“Matthew, listen”
“No! I wont!” He covered his ears with his hands. “I want her gone! I hate that baby!”
I took a deep breath. Beneath all that anger, I knew there was fear. So much fear.
“Son, the difference is we didnt have to search for her. But we did for you. We chose you out of thousands because we knew you were perfect for us.”
Slowly, he turned back, his face red and tear-streaked but no longer shouting.
“Did did you really do all that for me?” he asked, voice trembling.
“We did. And when I first saw you, I knew every day of waiting had been worth it. She came when she was meant to, but youyou were a deliberate choice of love.”
Matthew wiped his tears on his jumper sleeve.
“But you wont love her more?”
“Impossible, love. A parents heart doesnt work that way. It grows to fit every child the same. Both of you are ours now. Both of you are siblings.”
He was quiet for a moment, thinking it over. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and touched his sisters tiny hand as she slept peacefully in his mothers arms.
“Shes so small,” he whispered, surprised by how soft her skin was.
“Just like you once were.”
“Can I hold her?”
“Of course.”
Carefully, I settled the baby into his arms. Matthew gazed at her with a mix of wonder and tenderness that filled me with hope.
“Hello, little sister,” he murmured. “Im Matthew, your big brother. And Ill always look after you, I promise.”
The baby opened her eyes as if shed heard him, and for the first time in days, Matthew smiled a real smile.
