My aunt had married William when she was young. Their life was bright and interesting, and they loved each other. They spent all their free time together, travelled and enjoyed every moment. There was only one problem: they lived 10 years, and still no children.
My aunt felt incomplete. The doctors clearly made it clear that they could not have children, no matter what happened. It was so hard for her to understand that she could not even look at other people’s children, she immediately started crying. Her mother advised her to adopt, to pretend to be pregnant and not to tell anyone that the baby was adopted.
Previously, only a few people made such a decision. Many worried about heredity, and the biological parents could suddenly show up. But his aunt managed to persuade her husband to take the boy home six months later.
Alan grew up in a happy family, but his parents died in a terrible accident. The older children were taken away by relatives, and he ended up in a orphanage. The baby was sickly, so nobody wanted to baby-sit him.
It was the 90s. Nobody had any money. What to treat him for? However, immediately after adopting Alan, William was offered a contract in Finland. He could not refuse such an offer, because it was necessary to move on.
His aunt was carrying everything on her own. Doctors, hospitals, massages, swimming pools. In the rush to improve the health of her adopted son she did not notice that her husband wrote letters less frequently. He did not want to come at all, hiding behind his work and affairs. And then it turned out that he met his classmate in Finland, and between them there was a romance.
William, apparently, did not even intend to fight for his son, he had other plans for life. It so happened that soon my aunt was left alone with a sick child in her arms.
Life was hard for her; there’s no point in telling about it. Her only support was her attending physician Alana. At first he just helped her, and then there was a spark between them. He was a good and compliant man, and loved his little patient. By the way, Alan looked a lot like him, everyone thought he was his son.
It would seem that everything got better, but that was not the end of the story. Five years later, my aunt woke up with a slight malaise. Her condition remained unchanged from day to day, and then she discovers she is pregnant. Wasn’t it a miracle?
Alan was crazy about his little brother. He helped in every way, looked after him and tried to be as manly as Dad. No one ever knew that Alan was adopted. And there’s no point in telling anyone about it anymore. What difference does it make, blood relatives or not? The main thing is that they’re loved ones.
Do you think I should tell Alan that he is not my biological son?
