WE ADOPTED A 3-YEAR-OLD BOY — WHEN MY HUSBAND WENT TO BATHE HIM FOR THE FIRST TIME, HE SHOUTED, ‘WE MUST RETURN HIM!’ I’ve been married to my husband for 10 years, and after struggling to have a child, we decided to adopt. My husband, a busy businessman, didn’t have the time to focus on the process, so I took it upon myself to call agencies, submit paperwork, and review lists of children in need of homes. We initially planned to adopt an infant, but the demand was high. Then I found a photo of a 3-year-old boy whose mother had abandoned him. The boy’s big blue eyes captured my
heart. When I showed the photo to my husband, he
liked Sam too. We talked it over and felt ready for this commitment. So, we completed the paperwork and a month later, we brought Sam home. I was overjoyed! My husband even offered to bathe him for the first time to build a connection, and I felt so relieved that he was excited about becoming a dad. But just a minute after they entered the bathroom, my husband ran out and shouted, “WE MUST RETURN HIM!”CONTINUE..⬇️
After years of infertility, we adopted Sam, a sweet 3-year-old with ocean-blue eyes. But when my husband went to bathe Sam, he ran out, yelling, “We must return him!” His panic made no sense until I spotted the distinctive marking on Sam’s foot.
I never expected that bringing home our adopted son would unravel the fabric of my marriage. But looking back now, I realize that some gifts come wrapped in heartache, and sometimes the universe has a twisted sense of timing.
“Are you nervous?” I asked Mark as we drove to the agency.
My hands fidgeted with the tiny blue sweater I’d bought for Sam, our soon-to-be son. The fabric was impossibly soft against my fingers, and I imagined his small shoulders filling it out.
Me? Nah,” Mark replied, but his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. “Just ready to get this show on the road. Traffic’s making me antsy.”
A man driving a car | Source: Pexels
He drummed his fingers on the dash, a nervous tick I’d noticed more frequently lately.
“You’ve checked the car seat three times,” he added with a forced chuckle. “Pretty sure you’re the nervous one.”
“Of course I am!” I smoothed the sweater again. “We’ve waited so long for this.”
The adoption process had been grueling, mostly handled by me while Mark focused on his expanding business.
The endless paperwork, home studies, and interviews had consumed my life for months as I searched agency lists for a child. We’d initially planned to adopt an infant, but the waiting lists stretched endlessly, so I started expanding our options.
That’s how I found Sam’s photo — a three-year-old boy with eyes like summer skies and a smile that could melt glaciers.
His mother had abandoned him, and something in those eyes spoke directly to my heart. Maybe it was the hint of sadness behind his smile, or perhaps it was fate.
A little boy with striking blue eyes | Source: Midjourney
“Look at this little guy,” I said to Mark one evening, showing him the photo on my tablet. The blue glow illuminated his face as he studied it.
He’d smiled so softly I knew he wanted this boy as much as I did. “He looks like a great kid. Those eyes are something else.”
“But could we handle a toddler?”
“Of course we can! No matter how old the kid is, I know you’ll be a great mom.” He squeezed my shoulder as I stared at the picture.
We completed the application process and, after what seemed like forever, we went to the agency to bring Sam home. The social worker, Ms. Chen, led us to a small playroom where Sam sat building a tower of blocks.
“Sam,” she said softly, “remember the nice couple we talked about? They’re here.”
I kneeled beside him, my heart thundering. “Hi, Sam. I love your tower. May I help?”
He studied me for a long moment, nodded, and handed me a red block. That simple gesture felt like the beginning of everything.
A child playing with toy blocks | Source: Midjourney
The drive home was quiet. Sam clutched a stuffed elephant we’d brought him, occasionally making small trumpet sounds that made Mark chuckle. I kept glancing back at him in his car seat, hardly believing he was real.
At home, I started unpacking Sam’s few belongings. His small duffle seemed impossibly light for containing a child’s whole world.
“I can give him his bath,” Mark offered, from the door. “Give you a chance to set up his room exactly how you want it.”
A man standing in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
“Great idea!” I beamed, thinking how wonderful it was that Mark wanted to bond right away. “Don’t forget the bath toys I picked up for him.”
They disappeared down the hall, and I hummed as I arranged Sam’s clothes in his new dresser. Each tiny sock and T-shirt made this feel more real. The peace lasted exactly forty-seven seconds.
“WE MUST RETURN HIM!”
Mark’s shout hit me like a physical blow.
He burst from the bathroom as I raced into the hall. Mark’s face was ghost-white.
“What do you mean, return him?” I struggled to keep my voice steady, gripping the doorframe. “We just adopted him! He’s not a sweater from Target!”
Mark paced the hallway, running his hands through his hair, his breathing ragged. “I just realized… I can’t do this. I can’t treat him like my own. This was a mistake.”
“Why would you say that?” My voice cracked like thin ice.
“You were excited just hours ago! You were making elephant noises with him in the car!”
“I don’t know; it just hit me. I can’t bond with him.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes, staring instead at a point somewhere over my shoulder. His hands trembled.
“You’re being heartless!” I snapped, pushing past him into the bathroom.
Sam sat in the tub looking small and confused, and still wearing everything but his socks and shoes. He held his elephant clutched tight against his chest.
A boy holding a stuffed elephant | Source: Midjourney
“Hey, buddy,” I said, forcing cheerfulness into my voice while my world crumbled. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Would Mr. Elephant like a bath too?”
Sam shook his head. “He’s scared of water.”
“That’s okay. He can watch from here.” I set the toy safely on the counter. “Arms up!”
As I helped Sam undress, I noticed something that stopped my heart.
Sam had a distinctive birthmark on his left foot. I’d seen that exact mark before, on Mark’s foot, during countless summer days by the pool. The same unique curve, the same placement.
My hands trembled as I bathed Sam, and my mind raced.
“You’ve got magic bubbles,” Sam said, poking at the foam I’d barely registered adding to the water.
“They’re extra special bubbles,” I muttered, watching him play. His smile, which had seemed so uniquely his own, now held echoes of my husband’s.
A bubble bath | Source: Pexels
That night, after tucking Sam into his new bed, I confronted Mark in our bedroom. The distance between us on the king-size mattress felt infinite.
“The birthmark on his foot is identical to yours.”
Mark froze in the act of removing his watch, then forced a laugh that sounded like breaking glass. “Pure coincidence. Lots of people have birthmarks.”
“I want you to take a DNA test.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, turning away. “You’re letting your imagination run wild. It’s been a stressful day.”
But his reaction told me everything. The next day, while Mark was at work, I took a few strands of hair from his brush and sent them for testing, along with a swab I took from Sam’s cheek during tooth-brushing time. I told him we were checking for cavities.
The wait was excruciating. Mark grew increasingly distant, spending more time at the office. Meanwhile, Sam and I grew closer.
He started calling me “Mama” within days, and each time he did, my heart swelled with love even as it ached with uncertainty.
We developed a routine of morning pancakes, bedtime stories, and afternoon walks to the park where he’d collect “treasure” (leaves and interesting rocks) for his windowsill.
When the results arrived two weeks later, they confirmed what I’d suspected. Mark was Sam’s biological father. I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the paper until the words blurred, hearing Sam’s laughter float in from the backyard where he played with his new bubble wand.
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
“It was one night,” Mark finally confessed when I confronted him with the results. “I was drunk, at a conference. I never knew… I never thought…” He reached for me, his face crumpling. “Please, we can work this out. I’ll do better.”
I stepped back, my voice ice-cold. “You knew the moment you saw that birthmark. That’s why you panicked.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sinking into a kitchen chair. “When I saw him in the bath, it all came rushing back. That woman… I never got her name. I was ashamed, I tried to forget…
