My family life didn’t work out when my son was only three years old, my husband was killed in a car accident, and I was raising the boy alone. He was very much like his father, and looking at him, I often thought of my late husband.
When James was in high school, we got a call at our apartment just before New Year’s Eve. I opened the door and saw a strange woman. She said she wanted to tell me important news and asked to let me in. Our conversation was chaotic. The stranger, her name was Barbara, showed me a picture of her son. It turns out that we gave birth in the same maternity hospital at the same time. The midwife who delivered her baby was her neighbor, and eight years later, when she became seriously ill, she confessed that she had mixed up the boys then, long ago.
At first I didn’t want to believe the nonsense, but Barbara was quite sincere, and she even agreed to pay for an expensive DNA test. I refused her money, but we decided to do not one, but four of these tests. The results confirmed that James was her son and her Mark was mine.
As we sat with these certificates, not knowing what to do next, I asked:
– But why do they look so much like my dead husband?
Pulling out a picture, I showed it to Barbara. She changed her face and said quietly:
– That’s Mark’s dad. Sorry…
Barbara left, and we didn’t talk for a week, and then we did meet, and we decided to forget that we loved the same man, to forget for the sake of our children, who turned out to be half-brothers.
Now Barbara is my friend, and James and Mark are inseparable friends. Maybe one day we will tell them the story of their acquaintance and friendship.
