The Full Story:
I was divorced at that time, shattered by a marriage that ended in betrayal. I didn’t want to get married again or look for love; the only thing I longed for was a BABY. I knew in my soul that I was meant to be a mother, and I was ready to raise a child as a single mom.
I decided on a fresh start. I selected an anonymous donor from a clinic—Donor #452, described as tall, athletic, with high academic achievement. I didn’t want to know a name; I just wanted the dream. I planned to move two states away right after the procedure to begin my new life unfettered by the past.
Before I left, my male best friend, Jude, threw a farewell party for me. Jude had been my rock through the divorce, the shoulder I cried on. He was supportive of my plan, though he seemed strangely sad when I told him I was leaving. At the party, he hugged me tighter than usual and whispered, “I just want you to be happy, Clara. Remember that.”
The week after my medical procedure, I left. I moved into a cozy cottage in Vermont. The procedure worked. I got pregnant and had a wonderful life with my son, Alan.
Alan was my world. He was smart, funny, and had these striking, unusual amber-colored eyes that I adored. I always wondered if they came from Donor #452.
Eight years passed in a happy blur. But eventually, the pull of home and aging parents brought me back. I decided it was time for Alan to know where his mom came from.
Last month, when I returned and showed up in town with Alan, meeting all my old friends at a backyard barbecue, the atmosphere changed the moment we walked in.
I noticed them staring strangely at my son. They immediately looked shocked for a second, then quickly looked away, whispering to each other. It made me uncomfortable. I thought maybe they were judging my choice to be a single mother.
Then, Jude walked out onto the patio carrying a tray of burgers. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw us. He smiled, a little nervously, and walked over. “Clara! You made it.”
He knelt down to say hello to my son. “And who is this big guy?”
“This is Alan,” I said proudly. Alan smiled shyly, looking up at Jude with those big, amber eyes.
The entire party went silent.
One of my girlfriends, Sarah, gasped audibly. She looked from Alan, to Jude, and back to Alan again.
“Clara,” Sarah whispered, walking over to me, her face pale. “Oh my god, Clara. Look at them.”
I frowned. “Look at who?”
“Look at Alan. And look at Jude.”
I looked down at my son, then up at my best friend, who was suddenly refusing to meet my gaze. It was like a curtain had been pulled back. The way their hairlines kicked up on the right side. The shape of their jaw when they smiled. And those eyes. Those striking, unusual amber eyes that I had spent eight years adoring.
They weren’t from Donor #452. They were Jude’s eyes.
My blood ran cold. The room spun. I grabbed Jude by the arm and dragged him into the kitchen, away from the staring crowd.
“Tell me I’m crazy,” I hissed. “Tell me it’s a coincidence.”
Jude looked sick. tears welled in his amber eyes—Alan’s eyes. “I couldn’t let you go, Clara. I loved you. I always loved you. When you told me you were using that clinic… I knew the lab technician. I swapped the sample. I thought… I thought if you had my baby, part of me would always be with you.”
I backed away from him, horrified. The anonymous donor wasn’t anonymous. My best friend had violated my trust and my body in the most unimaginable way. I had run away to start over, only to realize I had been raising the secret he planted in my life for eight years.
