We Adopted a Toddler Boy – When My Husband Tried to Bathe Him for the First Time, He Cried Out, ‘We Have to Take Him Back!’

Following years of struggling with infertility, we welcomed Sam, a delightful 3-year-old with bright blue eyes. However, when my husband took Sam to bathe, he dashed out, shouting, “We have to bring him back!” His fear was irrational until I noticed the unique mark on Sam’s foot. 

I never anticipated that introducing our adopted son into our home would tear apart my marriage. Reflecting on it now, I understand that certain blessings are cloaked in pain, and occasionally the cosmos possesses a peculiar sense of timing.

“Do you feel anxious?” I inquired of Mark while we were driving to the agency.

My fingers played with the little blue sweater I had purchased for Sam, our future son. The material felt incredibly soft against my fingers, and I envisioned his little shoulders filling it up. 

“Me?” “No,” Mark answered, though his knuckles were pale gripping the steering wheel. “All set to kick off this event.” “The traffic is leaving me restless.”

He tapped his fingers on the dashboard, a nervous habit I’ve seen more often lately. 

“You’ve inspected the car seat three times,” he said with a strained laugh. “I’m quite certain you’re the anxious one.” 

“Certainly I am!” I patted the sweater once more. “We have waited a long time for this.” 

The process of adoption was exhausting, primarily managed by me as Mark concentrated on his growing business.

The continuous paperwork, home assessments, and interviews had taken over my life for months while I scoured agency directories for a child. We originally intended to adopt a baby, but the waitlists were interminable, so I began broadening our choices.

That’s how I discovered Sam’s picture — a three-year-old child with eyes reminiscent of summer skies and a grin that could thaw glaciers. 

His mother had left him, and something in those eyes connected straight to my soul. Perhaps it was the trace of sorrow behind his grin, or maybe it was destiny.

“Check out this tiny fellow,” I told Mark one evening, displaying the picture on my tablet. The blue light brightened his face while he examined it. 

He smiled gently, and I could tell he desired this boy just as much as I did. “He seems like an awesome kid.” “Those eyes are truly remarkable.”

“However, are we capable of managing a toddler?”

“Certainly, we are able to!” “Regardless of the child’s age, I’m confident you’ll be an excellent mother.” He pressed my shoulder while I gazed at the photo.

We finished the application process and, after what felt like an eternity, we visited the agency to take Sam home. The social worker, Ms. Chen, guided us to a tiny playroom where Sam was constructing a tower with blocks. 

“Sam,” she spoke gently, “do you recall the wonderful couple we discussed? “They have arrived.”

I knelt next to him, my heart racing. “Hello, Sam.” I adore your tower. “Can I assist you?” 

He examined me for a lengthy moment, nodded, and gave me a red block. That uncomplicated act seemed like the start of it all.

The ride back was serene. Sam held tightly to a plush elephant we had given him, occasionally producing little trumpet noises that caused Mark to laugh. I continually looked back at him in his car seat, barely able to believe he was actual. 

At home, I began to unpack the few items belonging to Sam. His little duffle appeared remarkably light for holding a child’s entire universe. 

“I can handle giving him a bath,” Mark proposed, standing by the door. “Allow you the opportunity to arrange his room precisely to your liking.”

“Fantastic concept!” I smiled, reflecting on how great it was that Mark wanted to connect immediately. “Remember the bath toys I got for him.” 

They vanished down the corridor, and I hummed while I organized Sam’s clothes in his new drawer. Every little sock and T-shirt enhanced the sense of reality. The tranquility endured for precisely forty-seven seconds.

“WE HAVE TO BRING HIM BACK!”

Mark’s shout struck me like a tangible hit.

He rushed out of the bathroom just as I sprinted into the hallway. Mark’s complexion was an eerie white. 

“What are you implying by returning him?” I fought to maintain my voice’s steadiness, holding onto the doorframe. “We have just taken him in!” “He’s not a sweater from Target!” 

Mark strode back and forth in the corridor, tugging at his hair, his breath uneven. “I just noticed…” I am unable to accomplish this. I cannot regard him as my own. “This was an error.”

“What makes you say that?” My voice broke like fragile ice.

“You were thrilled only a few hours back!” “You were creating elephant sounds with him in the car!”

“I have no idea; it simply occurred to me.” “I’m unable to connect with him.” He avoided making eye contact, gazing instead at a spot just beyond my shoulder. His hands shook. 

“You’re showing no compassion!” I lost my temper, shoving him aside as I entered the bathroom. 

Sam was in the tub, appearing small and bewildered, still dressed except for his socks and shoes. He grasped his elephant firmly against his chest.

“Hey there, friend,” I replied, injecting a false joviality into my tone as my reality fell apart. “Let’s tidy you up, alright?” “Does Mr. Elephant want to take a bath as well?” 

Sam moved his head side to side. “He’s afraid of water.” 

“That’s acceptable.” “He is able to observe from this spot.” I placed the toy securely on the counter. “Raise your arms!” 

While assisting Sam with getting undressed, I saw something that took my breath away.

Sam possessed a unique birthmark on his left foot. I had observed that same mark earlier, on Mark’s foot, during numerous summer days spent by the pool. The identical distinct curve, the identical positioning.

My hands shook while I washed Sam, and my thoughts rushed.

“You have magical bubbles,” Sam remarked, prodding at the foam I had just noticed adding to the water. 

“They’re unique bubbles,” I whispered, observing him play. His smile, once so distinctly his, now carried traces of my husband’s.

That evening, after settling Sam into his new bed, I confronted Mark in our room. The gap between us on the king-sized bed seemed endless.

“The birthmark on his foot matches yours exactly.”

Mark halted mid-motion while taking off his watch, then let out a laugh that resembled the sound of shattering glass. Sheer chance. Many individuals have birthmarks.

“I would like you to undergo a DNA test.”

“Don’t be absurd,” he retorted, spinning around. You’re allowing your creativity to roam freely. “It has been a tense day.” 

However, his response revealed everything to me. The following day, while Mark was at his job, I collected several strands of hair from his brush and sent them for analysis, along with a swab I obtained from Sam’s cheek while brushing his teeth. I informed him that we were examining for cavities. 

The delay was torturous. Mark became more remote, dedicating additional hours to work. In the meantime, Sam and I became more connected

He began referring to me as “Mama” within days, and every time he did, my heart filled with love, even while it hurt with doubt. 

We established a routine of morning pancakes, evening stories, and afternoon strolls to the park where he would gather “treasures” (leaves and unique stones) for his windowsill. 

When the results came two weeks later, they validated what I had suspected. Mark was the biological dad of Sam. I sat at the kitchen table, gazing at the paper until the text became fuzzy, listening to Sam’s laughter drift in from the backyard where he was playing with his new bubble wand.

“It happened one night,” Mark ultimately admitted when I faced him with the evidence. “I was intoxicated, at a conference.” I had no idea… I always assumed…” He extended his hand towards me, his expression folding. “Kindly, we can resolve this.” “I’ll improve.” 

I took a step back, my voice frigid. “You realized it as soon as you spotted that birthmark.” “That’s the reason you were frantic.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, collapsing into a chair in the kitchen. “When I spotted him in the tub, everything flooded back.” That lady… I never learned her name. I felt embarrassed, I attempted to erase…

“A mishap four years prior, during my fertility treatment journey?” “Shedding tears each month when they didn’t succeed?” Every question felt like shards of glass in my throat. 

The following morning, I met with a lawyer, a keen-eyed woman named Janet who heard me out without bias. She verified my hopes — being Sam’s lawful adoptive mother granted me parental rights. Mark’s previously undisclosed fatherhood did not automatically bestow custody upon him.

“I’m initiating the divorce proceedings,” I informed Mark that night after Sam had gone to bed. “And I am pursuing full custody of Sam.”

“Amanda, I ask you—”

“His mother had already left him, and you were about to do the same,” I interrupted. “I will not allow that to occur.” 

His expression twisted. “I cherish you.” 

“Insufficient to be honest.” It appears to me that you cared for yourself more.

Mark didn’t resist, so the divorce process went swiftly. Sam adapted more easily than I anticipated, although occasionally he wondered why Daddy no longer lived with us.

“At times, adults err,” I would say to him, gently running my fingers through his hair. “However, it doesn’t imply they lack love for you.” It was the most compassionate truth I could provide. 

Time has gone by since that moment, and Sam has matured into an extraordinary young man. Mark sends birthday cards and occasional emails but maintains his distance — that’s his decision, not mine. 

Individuals occasionally inquire whether I wish I had left when I uncovered the truth. I consistently shake my head.

Sam had transcended being merely an adopted child; he had become my son, regardless of biology and feelings of betrayal. Love may not always be easy, but it’s always a decision. I promised never to let him go, unless it was to his future fiancée, naturally.