I think only parents will truly understand me. When you have a child, you’ll do anything to give them the best care and comfort—anything.
Charlie and I had struggled for years to conceive. The countless nights I cried myself to sleep, wondering why it wasn’t happening, felt endless. After years of heartbreak, we decided to adopt. That’s when Alice came into our lives.
We were lucky to adopt her as an infant. Her biological mother gave her up right after birth, and though it must have been painful for her, it was a blessing for us. We didn’t know anything about Alice’s past, and perhaps that was for the best. We were just thankful to have her.
It felt like a fairy tale. Alice brought so much joy into our home, despite the challenges—sleepless nights, fevers, tantrums. Alice grew up to be kind, intelligent, and clever.
When Alice was ten, a new teacher, Mr. Jackson, joined her school. From the first day, we heard a lot about him. Every evening, Alice talked endlessly about how great he was.
Then, one day, I received a text from Mr. Jackson saying that Alice would stay after class for extra lessons. I was worried—had Alice done something wrong?
When I asked, Mr. Jackson assured me that he did extra lessons with all the kids to help them better understand the material. I was impressed by his dedication. Not many teachers go that far.
Soon, Alice had weekly private lessons with Mr. Jackson, and we thought nothing of it. Until one day, I bumped into Karen, another parent. She mentioned how lucky the kids were to have Mr. Jackson, and when I brought up the extra lessons, she seemed surprised. She’d never heard of them.
That made me uneasy. Was Alice the only one staying after class? What did this mean? I needed answers.
Later that day, I asked Alice what she and Mr. Jackson did during those lessons. Her response was vague—just drawing, reading, and talking. It didn’t sit right with me.
That evening, I spoke with Charlie. After some discussion, we agreed that I should go to the school the next day and find out what was really happening.
The following day, I went to the school and found Alice and Mr. Jackson sitting together, not doing schoolwork but just talking. I overheard Alice say something that made my heart stop. She asked, “Why can’t I tell my parents?”
My voice shook with anger when I confronted Mr. Jackson. He revealed something shocking: he was Alice’s biological father.
He explained that he’d done a DNA test after recognizing a birthmark on Alice. My anger boiled over. He had tested her without our consent, trying to reconnect with her. But I wasn’t having it. He gave her up years ago, and now, trying to take her back—without respect for us—crossed every line.
I told him that we were transferring Alice to another school. Alice’s safety and well-being were my priority.
When I told Alice, she was heartbroken, confused. I assured her that Charlie and I were her parents, and nothing would change that.
Charlie and I discussed the situation, and while he felt Alice should be allowed to see Mr. Jackson, I wasn’t ready for that. In the end, we agreed to let Alice see him, but under our terms, not his.
The next day, I met with Mr. Jackson again. I told him I would allow Alice to see him, but he needed to respect our role as her parents. He agreed, relieved, and thanked me. But I knew the road ahead would be complicated.
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