I never imagined that bringing home our adopted son would shake my marriage to its core. Looking back now, I can see that some gifts come wrapped in heartache and that the universe has a twisted sense of timing.
“Are you nervous?” I asked my husband, Mark, as we drove to the agency.
I fidgeted with the tiny blue sweater I’d bought for Sam, our soon-to-be son. It was so soft in my hands, and I imagined him filling it out with his small shoulders.
“Nervous? No,” Mark replied, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. “Just ready to get this show on the road. Traffic’s making me antsy.” He tapped his fingers on the dash, a new habit I’d noticed 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 long and grueling. I’d handled most of it while Mark focused on his growing business. Hours of paperwork, home studies, and interviews had consumed my life, and while we’d initially planned to adopt an infant, the waiting lists were endless. That’s when I expanded our search and found Sam’s photo.
There he was—a three-year-old boy with eyes like summer skies and a smile that could melt ice. His mother had left him, and something in his gaze tugged at my heart. I showed Mark his picture one evening.
“He looks like a great kid,” Mark said softly, studying the photo. “Those eyes are something else.”
“But can we handle a toddler?” I asked, nervous but hopeful.
“Of course! I know you’ll be a great mom.” He squeezed my shoulder, reassuring me.
Finally, the day arrived. We went to the agency, and a social worker named Ms. Chen led us to a small playroom. Sam was there, quietly stacking blocks.
“Sam,” she said, “this is the nice couple we talked about. They’re here to bring you home.”
I knelt beside him, my heart racing. “Hi, Sam. I love your tower. Can I help?”
After a moment, he nodded and handed me a red block. That small gesture felt like the beginning of everything.
The drive home was mostly quiet. Sam clutched a stuffed elephant we’d brought him, occasionally making little trumpet sounds that made Mark chuckle. I kept glancing at him in the rearview mirror, still unable to believe he was ours.
Once we were home, I started unpacking Sam’s few belongings. His duffle bag felt so light, it broke my heart to think it held his entire world.
“I’ll give him a bath,” Mark offered from the doorway, surprising me. “You can set up his room the way you want.”
“Great idea!” I said, happy that Mark was eager to bond. “Don’t forget the bath toys I got for him!”
They disappeared down the hall, and I hummed as I arranged Sam’s clothes. But the peace didn’t last.
“WE MUST RETURN HIM!” Mark’s shout shook me. I rushed into the hallway to see him pale and trembling.
“What do you mean, return him?” I demanded, barely keeping my voice steady. “We just adopted him!”
Mark was pacing, hands raking through his hair. “I don’t think I can do this. I can’t see him as my own. This was a mistake.”
“What?” My voice cracked. “Just hours ago, you were making elephant noises with him in the car!”
“I don’t know; something just hit me in there. I can’t bond with him.” He wouldn’t look at me, staring somewhere over my shoulder instead.
I pushed past him into the bathroom. Sam was sitting in the tub, still wearing his clothes except for his socks and shoes. He looked up at me, clutching his stuffed elephant.
“Hey, buddy,” I said gently, forcing a smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Does Mr. Elephant want to watch from here?”
Sam shook his head. “He’s scared of water.”
“That’s okay. He can watch from over here.” I set the toy on the counter. “Arms up!”
As I helped him undress, I froze. Sam had a distinctive birthmark on his left foot—the same unique mark I’d seen on Mark’s foot a thousand times. My hands shook as I continued the bath, my mind racing.
After tucking Sam into bed that night, I confronted Mark. “Sam’s birthmark—it’s identical to yours.”
Mark froze mid-motion, then laughed nervously. “That’s just a coincidence. Lots of people have birthmarks.”
