We Adopted a 3-Year-Old Boy – When My Husband Went to Bathe Him for the First Time, He Shouted, ‘We Must Return Him!’

After years of longing for a child and facing infertility struggles, we decided to adopt. Our choice was a delightful three-year-old, Sam, with mesmerizing ocean-blue eyes. Little did we know that this joyous decision would test the very fiber of our marriage.

It began when my husband, Mark, decided to bathe our newly adopted son for the first time. He rushed out of the bathroom, panic-stricken, exclaiming, “We must return him!” Puzzled by his reaction, I didn’t grasp the situation until I noticed a distinguishable mark on Sam’s foot.

“Are you nervous?” I asked Mark as we drove to the agency. My hands fiddled with a tiny sweater I’d bought for our soon-to-be son, Sam. The soft material seemed to calm me slightly.

“Not me,” Mark claimed, hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, betraying his words. “Just eager to get there. Traffic’s driving me nuts.” He drummed his fingers nervously, a habit I’d noticed increasing.

He teased, “You’ve checked the car seat three times—you’re the nervous one here.” I laughed, “Of course, we’ve waited so long for this moment.”

The process was arduous, with numerous documents, home studies, and interviews, mostly handled by me, while Mark focused on his business. We originally hoped for an infant, but the waitlists were endless. Adjusting our expectations led us to Sam.

There was something in his photo, a three-year-old left by his birth mother, which touched my heart. His summer-sky eyes and tender smile with a hint of sadness called out to me.

“Look at this sweetheart,” I showed Mark a picture of Sam on my tablet. As the blue light washed over his face, he smiled, “He’s adorable, those eyes.”

The day finally came when we could bring Sam home. Ms. Chen, the social worker, introduced us to him. He was in a small room building a tower of blocks. “Sam,” she gently called, “The nice couple is here.” My heart raced as I knelt next to him, “Hi, Sam. Your tower is impressive. May I help?” He nodded and handed me a block. Such a simple gesture filled me with hope.

As we drove home, the car was quiet, but Sam was content, holding a stuffed elephant we brought. I glanced at him repeatedly, scarcely believing the moment was real.

At home, Mark offered to give Sam his bath, allowing me to arrange his room. I gladly agreed, collecting his clothes into drawers while humming to myself.

But soon, Mark’s loud yell threw my world into disarray. “We must return him!” he shouted from the bathroom, rushing into the hall looking pale as a ghost.

“You can’t just return him,” I insisted, while holding onto the doorframe. But he continued, “I just realized… I don’t know if I can treat him like my own.” My heart broke.

Disregarding him, I entered the bathroom. Poor Sam sat in the tub still dressed except for his shoes, clutching his elephant. “Hey buddy,” I comforted him, fighting my own panic, “Let’s get clean, okay?”

Helping him undress, I froze when I saw a familiar birthmark, one I had seen before on Mark’s foot—the same unique curve, the same spot.

Bathing Sam felt surreal. My thoughts raced as he happily made features in the bubble bath I’d prepared.

That night, after Sam slept, I confronted Mark about the birthmark. The revelation made his face harden. He stammered that it was just a coincidence. But I persisted, demanding proof.

Eventually, without Mark, I secured DNA samples and sent them for testing. Each day waiting seemed like a decade, but as Sam and I grew closer, Mark distanced himself further.

The day the test results came, I discovered my fear confirmed: Mark was Sam’s biological father. The betrayal, undisclosed from the start, made my heart feel heavy.

When confronted, Mark admitted to a one-time affair during a business trip. Ashamed and regretful, he had tried to bury the past. But once he saw Sam’s birthmark, memories flooded back.

Despite the turmoil and deception, I couldn’t abandon Sam. I visited a lawyer to secure my parental rights. Legally, I was Sam’s mother, and that bond meant everything.

Months later, I filed for divorce and sought full custody. My decision was driven by my love for Sam, who deserved stability and affection.

Years have passed since then. Sam is thriving and showers our home with happiness. Mark remains distant, his own decision, though he occasionally reaches out. I hold no regrets. My commitment to Sam has only deepened, proving love always finds a way.