We adopted Sam, a charming 3-year-old with ocean-blue eyes, after years of infertility. However, my husband rushed out and yelled, “We must return him!” as he proceeded to bathe Sam. Until I noticed the unique marking on Sam’s foot, his distress made no sense.
I never thought that my marriage would fall apart when I brought home our adoptive son. However, in retrospect, I see that the universe occasionally has a warped sense of timing, and that certain blessings are accompanied by grief.
“Are you anxious?” As we drove to the agency, I questioned Mark.
I was fidgeting with the small blue jumper I had purchased for our soon-to-be son, Sam. I pictured his tiny shoulders filling the fabric, which felt unbelievably soft under my fingers.
“Me? Although his knuckles were white on the steering wheel, Mark said, “No.” “I’m just eager to start this show. Traffic is driving me crazy.
With a nervous tick that I’d noticed more often lately, he drummed his fingers on the dash.
With a strained laugh, he said, “You’ve checked the car seat three times.” “I think you’re the one who’s anxious.”
“I am, of course!” Once more, I smoothed the sweater. “This is what we’ve been waiting so long for.”
I had primarily managed the difficult adoption process while Mark concentrated on growing his company.
I had been searching agency lists for a child for months, and the never-ending paperwork, home studies, and interviews had taken up all of my time. At first, we had intended to adopt a baby, but the waiting lists were so long that I began looking into other options.
That’s how I came across the picture of Sam, a three-year-old youngster with a smile that could melt glaciers and eyes like June skies.
There was something in those eyes that spoke straight to my heart: his mother had abandoned him. It might have been fate, or the tinge of melancholy in his smile.
I showed Mark the picture on my tablet one evening and said, “Look at this little guy.” He inspected it, his face lit by the blue glow.
His smile was so gentle that I could tell he shared my desire for this youngster. He appears to be a wonderful child. Those eyes are truly remarkable.
“However, could we manage a toddler?”
“We certainly can! I have no doubt that you will be an excellent mother, regardless of the child’s age. I glanced at the photo while he squeezed my shoulder.
After what seemed like an eternity, we went to the agency to bring Sam home after completing the application procedure. Ms. Chen, the social worker, showed us a tiny playroom where Sam was sitting and constructing a block tower.
“Sam,” she began quietly, “do you recall the pleasant couple we discussed? They are present.
My heart thudded as I knelt next to him. “Hello, Sam. I adore your tower. Could I be of assistance?
After giving me a lengthy look, he nodded and gave me a red block. It seemed like the start of everything with that small gesture.
It was a calm drive home. We brought Sam a stuffed elephant, which he held tightly while periodically making tiny trumpet noises that made Mark laugh. I could barely believe he was real as I kept looking back at him in his car seat.
I began unloading Sam’s few possessions at home. His tiny duffel looked too light to hold a child’s entire universe.
“From the door, I can give him his bath,” Mark said. “Give you an opportunity to arrange his room as you see fit.”
“Excellent concept!” I smiled, thinking how great it was that Mark wanted to connect with me immediately. “Remember the bath toys that I got him.”
I hummed as I put Sam’s clothing in his new dresser after they vanished down the hall. This felt more authentic with each small sock and T-shirt. For precisely forty-seven seconds, there was silence.
“HE MUST BE RETURNED!”
Mark’s yell struck me like a blow to the body.
As I hurried into the hallway, he exploded from the restroom. Mark had a ghostly white face.
“What do you mean, give him back?” I gripped the doorframe and tried to maintain a steady voice. “He was just adopted by us! He’s not a Target sweater!
Mark’s breathing was labored as he paced the corridor while raking his hands through his hair. “I just realized… I am unable to do this. He cannot be treated the same way I do. This was an error.
“What would you say?” My voice broke like a piece of brittle ice.
Hours ago, you were thrilled! In the car with him, you were making elephant noises!
“It just struck me; I’m not sure. I am unable to connect with him. Instead of looking directly into my eyes, he would look at something over my shoulder. His hands shook.
Promotion
“You’re being cruel!” I pushed past him into the restroom and snapped.
Sam, who was still only wearing his shoes and socks, sat in the tub looking little and bewildered. His elephant was tightly clasped against his breast.
As my world fell apart, I forced a smile into my voice and said, “Hey, buddy.” “Alright, let’s clean you up. Does Mr. Elephant want to take a bath as well?
Sam gave a headshake. “He fears the water.”
That’s alright. He can observe from this location. I placed the item on the counter safely. “Raise your arms!”
Something stopped me cold as I assisted Sam in taking off his clothes.
Sam’s left foot has a noticeable birthmark. On several summer days by the pool, I had already seen that exact mark on Mark’s foot. The same positioning, the same distinctive curvature.
As I washed Sam, my hands shook and my thoughts were racing.
Sam pointed to the foam I had hardly noticed adding to the water and remarked, “You have magic bubbles.”
I whispered as I watched him play, “They’re extra special bubbles.” His formerly distinctively his own smile now had echoes of my husband’s.
I approached Mark in our bedroom that night after putting Sam in his new bed. On the king-size mattress, the space between us seemed to go on forever.
“His foot has the same birthmark as yours.”
Mark paused as he took off his watch, then he forced a laugh that sounded like glass shattering. “Just a coincidence. Many people are born with birthmarks.
“Please take a DNA test for me.”
He turned aside and snapped, “Don’t be silly.” You’re using your imagination excessively. The day has been tense.
But I could tell everything from his response. Along with a swab I obtained from Sam’s cheek during tooth brushing time, I sent a few hair strands from Mark’s brush for testing the following day while he was at work. I informed him that we were doing a cavity check.
Promotion
It was painful to wait. Mark spent more time at the office and became more aloof. Sam and I, meanwhile, became closer.
In a matter of days, he began referring to me as “Mama,” and every time he did, my heart grew with love despite the pain from uncertainty.
We established a schedule that included pancakes in the morning, books before bed, and afternoon strolls to the park where he would gather “treasure” (interesting rocks and leaves) for his windowsill.
Two weeks later, the findings came in, and they supported my suspicions. Sam’s biological father was Mark. As I sat at the kitchen table and stared at the paper until the words became hazy, I could hear Sam laughing as he played with his new bubble wand in the backyard.
When I approached Mark with the data, he finally said, “It was one night.” At a meeting, I was intoxicated. I had no idea. I never considered… His expression crumpled as he reached for me. “Please, we can resolve this. I’ll perform better.
I took a step back and spoke in a chilly tone. As soon as you saw the birthmark, you knew. That’s why you became alarmed.
He lowered himself into a kitchen chair and muttered, “I apologize.” Everything came flooding back when I saw him in the bathtub. That lady… Her name escaped me. Feeling embarrassed, I made an effort to forget.
“An incident that happened four years ago when I was undergoing reproductive treatments? Weeping each month when they didn’t succeed? My throat felt like glass every time I asked a question.
I went to see a lawyer the following morning, Janet, a perceptive woman who listened to me without passing judgment. She validated my hopes that I would have parental rights as Sam’s legal adoptive mother. Mark was not given custody just because his paternity was previously uncertain.
That night, after Sam had gone to sleep, I told Mark, “I’m filing for divorce.” “I also want full custody of Sam.”
“Please, Amanda—”
I interrupted, saying, “You were prepared to abandon him just as his mother had already done.” “I refuse to allow that to occur.”
Promotion
His face twisted. “I cherish you.”
“Not enough to be honest.” You seemed to love yourself more, in my opinion.
Since Mark didn’t object, the divorce process moved quickly. Although he occasionally questioned why Daddy no longer lived with us, Sam adjusted better than I had anticipated.
I would stroke his hair and remind him, “Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes.” “However, that doesn’t imply they don’t love you.” It was the most compassionate truth I could provide.
Since then, Sam has developed into an exceptional young man. Mark occasionally emails and sends birthday cards, but he stays away—that’s his decision, not mine.
Sometimes people ask me if I regret not leaving after learning the truth. Every time, I shake my head.
Sam was no longer merely an adoptive child; biology and treachery be damned, he was now my son. Love is always a decision, but it’s not always easy. With the exception of his eventual fiancée, of course, I pledged never to give him up.