His older sister, Rachel, couldn’t make it from Chicago, where she ran a marketing firm. They hadn’t seen each other in years, their lives drifting apart after their parents passed. She sent a generous check and called, her voice crackling over the line.
- “I’m so sorry, Ethan,” she said. “I wanted to be there, but work’s a nightmare. You okay?”
- “No,” he admitted. “But I’ve got the kids. Gotta keep going.”
- “You do. That boy you wanted so bad—he’s here. Pour your love into him, into Mia and Ava. They’ll get you through.”
Ethan grunted, unconvinced. He barely knew how to parent his daughters, let alone a newborn. Mia liked science kits and asked endless questions about stars; Ava was obsessed with her stuffed unicorn and threw tantrums over broccoli. Noah was a blank slate, his cries a constant reminder of what Ethan had lost. If it weren’t for Lisa, he’d be drowning. She stayed on after the funeral, moving into the guest room when Ethan offered to pay her as a full-time nanny. She’d quit her job at the local Kroger, eager to help.
To stay sane, Ethan poured his energy into his dream of opening a mechanic shop. The two-car garage next to the house was already equipped with tools and a lift, perfect for a small business. He started taking local jobs—oil changes, brake repairs—keeping him close to home. But he noticed troubling signs. Noah was often left in a wet diaper, crying in his crib while Lisa fussed over Mia and Ava. One evening, after finding Noah soaked and hungry, Ethan snapped.
- “Lisa, what the hell?” he shouted, standing in the nursery. “I’m paying you to take care of all my kids, not just the girls. Noah’s a mess. What are you doing all day?”
Lisa’s eyes welled up, her lip trembling.
- “That’s all the thanks I get? Look at Mia and Ava—they’re happy, dressed like little princesses! I do it for them because they’re yours, Ethan. You don’t see how much I care.”
She clamped a hand over her mouth, her face paling. Ethan’s blood ran cold.
- “What do you mean, my girls? What about Noah?”
Lisa’s voice dropped to a whisper.
- “I didn’t mean to say it. But come on, Ethan, you’re not stupid. Look at Noah—blond hair, that birthmark. Then look at you and the girls. You were always on the road. Sarah was lonely. She was human.”
Ethan’s fists clenched, grease still smudged on his knuckles. He stepped toward her, his voice low and dangerous.
- “You’re saying Sarah cheated? That Noah’s not mine?”
Lisa shrank back, her eyes wide.
- “I’ve got proof,” she stammered. “A photo on my phone. Let me show you.”
She bolted to her room, returning with her phone. She thrust it at him, the screen showing Sarah at a diner booth, laughing, a blond man’s arm around her shoulders. Ethan’s vision blurred, rage and pain colliding. He didn’t want to see this, didn’t want to believe it. He snatched the phone and snapped it in half over his knee, the crack echoing in the quiet house. Without a word, he stormed out, still in his work boots, and drove to Rusty’s Bar on the edge of town.
The bar was dim, smelling of stale beer and fried onions. Ethan ordered whiskey, one shot after another, trying to burn away the image of Sarah with another man. A photo could be destroyed, but Noah? Every time Ethan looked at the boy, he’d see that blond hair, that teardrop birthmark. He’d felt a fragile love for Noah before, a flicker of hope in the grief. Now, it curdled into resentment. How could Sarah betray him? He’d worked himself to the bone for her, for their family, missing birthdays and school plays to keep the bills paid.
Hours later, Ethan stumbled home, drunk and unsteady, knocking over a lamp in the living room. Lisa was waiting, her eyes soft with concern. She guided him to bed, tugging off his boots. As she lay beside him, she whispered.
- “Not every woman’s like Sarah, Ethan. I’d never hurt you like that.”
Half-conscious, Ethan pulled her close, a fleeting moment of weakness. The next morning, he woke with a splitting headache and a sinking regret. Lisa, however, was radiant, already moving her clothes into his bedroom, acting like they were a couple. Ethan avoided her gaze, dreading another fight. But she brought up Noah.
- “Ethan, I know it’s hard,” she said, stirring oatmeal in the kitchen. “But what are you gonna do about Noah?”
- “What’s that supposed to mean?” he growled, rummaging in the fridge for Gatorade.
- “He’s not your son. He’s a stranger’s kid, a reminder of Sarah’s betrayal. Why keep him? Foster care’s an option.”
Ethan froze, the Gatorade bottle slipping from his hand. It hit the floor, plastic cracking, blue liquid pooling. Noah’s cries rang out from the nursery, sharp and desperate. Ethan stepped over the mess, his voice cold as steel.
- “Listen good, Lisa. I’m saying this once. Noah’s mine, legally and otherwise. I’m raising him. If you want to stay, you’ll treat all my kids the same and keep your mouth shut. We clear?”
Lisa nodded, her hands shaking as she grabbed a sponge to clean the spill. She understood. Desperate to stay with Ethan, she never mentioned foster care again. But when he wasn’t home, Noah felt her resentment in small, cruel ways—a skipped feeding, a harsh word, a cold shoulder.
Years passed, and Ethan struggled to love Noah as he loved Mia and Ava. He tried, God knows he did, but the boy’s blond hair and birthmark stirred a bitterness he couldn’t shake. He spoke to all three kids with the same words—homework reminders, bedtime rules—but his voice warmed for his daughters, while Noah got only curt instructions. The boy felt it, his small shoulders hunching under the weight of being less loved.
By the time Noah was seven, he was a quiet kid, his blue eyes always watching, searching for approval. His first day of first grade at Willow Creek Elementary was a big deal—or it should’ve been. Ethan was swamped at the shop, fixing a busted transmission, and Lisa was supposed to take Noah to school. Instead, she walked him to the gate, pointed out his teacher, and left.
- “That’s your class over there,” she said, checking her phone. “Go find your teacher and do what she says. You know how to get home. I’ve got stuff to do.”
Noah, clutching a cheap backpack Ethan had grabbed at Walmart, shuffled toward the crowd of kids. Other parents were there, snapping photos, adjusting bow ties, and waving as their first-graders lined up for the back-to-school assembly. Noah stood alone, no flowers or proud smiles for him. The assembly dragged on, the principal droning about school spirit. Afterward, the teacher, Mrs. Callahan, led the class to their room for introductions. Noah sat quietly, his new sneakers scuffing the floor. When the bell rang, parents swarmed to pick up their kids. Noah walked home alone, his heart heavy.