Saturday began like any other: errands with my husband, Rob, and our six-year-old son, Jamie. Everything was perfect until we reached the fabric store for Jamie’s Halloween costume.
While browsing, a saleswoman approached us. Jamie suddenly ran to her and asked, “Are you my mommy?” Shocked, the woman glanced at Rob, who looked equally pale. I apologized and we left for the promised ice cream, but my mind raced with questions.
That night, Jamie revealed he overheard Rob on the phone and saw the woman’s picture. On Monday, I confronted the saleswoman, Kaylee, who suggested I speak to Rob. At home, Rob confessed our baby didn’t survive childbirth, but Jamie, another baby born that night, was adopted from Kaylee.
My world shattered. Rob’s decision to adopt Jamie filled the void left by our loss, but he had kept the truth for six years. Despite the deception, Jamie was my son in every way that mattered. Seeking therapy, I aimed to process my grief and eventually connect with Kaylee for Jamie’s sake. Now, I focused on healing and cherishing my son.
