“I’ll give him his bath,” Dario offered. “You set up his room.”
I smiled. Grateful.
Then I heard it.
“WE HAVE TO TAKE HIM BACK!”
The shout ripped through the house.
Dario stormed out of the bathroom, face pale, hands shaking.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “We just adopted him. He’s not something you return.”
“I can’t do this,” he said, pacing. “I can’t treat him like my son. This was a mistake.”
My chest tightened. “You were fine an hour ago. You were laughing with him.”
“I don’t know,” he snapped. “Something hit me.”
Luca sat in the tub, mostly dressed, clutching his elephant, eyes wide and confused.
I forced a smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”
And then I saw it.
On Luca’s left foot was a birthmark—identical to Dario’s. Same shape. Same placement.
My stomach dropped.
I finished the bath on autopilot, Luca laughing at bubbles, completely unaware that my world had just cracked open.
That night, I confronted Dario.
“The birthmark,” I said. “It’s identical to yours.”
He laughed too quickly. “That’s ridiculous. Birthmarks are common.”
“I want a DNA test.”
His face hardened. “You’re imagining things.”
But his fear told me everything.
The next day, while he was at work, I collected hair from his brush and swabbed Luca’s cheek under the guise of checking for sugar bugs.
The results confirmed it. Dario was Luca’s biological father.
I stared at the paper while Luca played outside, chasing bubbles.
When I confronted Dario, he finally admitted it.
“It was one night,” he said. “I didn’t know she was pregnant.”
While I cried through fertility treatments, while I mourned each failure, he had a secret.
The betrayal settled deep.
The next morning, I met with a lawyer. Legally, Luca was mine. Adoption paperwork protected him. Biology didn’t erase that.
That evening, I told Dario I was filing for divorce and seeking full custody.
“You were ready to abandon him,” I said. “I won’t let that happen again.”
He didn’t fight.
Years later, Luca is kind, curious, strong. Dario keeps his distance. And still, I have no regrets.
Luca is my son—not because of DNA, but because I chose him, and I keep choosing him every day.
Some truths break you before they set you free. But real love isn’t about perfection. It’s about staying.