A mother's Confession

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A Mother's Confession Here you are, sitting in front of me. Your big blue eyes pleading with me, begging me to tell you what you have just discovered isn’t true. How I wish I could. I would love to be able to tell you a simple lie, take all of your hurt and pain away. But I can’t. I know I should have told you myself, but you never discovered my secret for eighteen years. I didn’t expect you to find it out now. But, how could I have told you something that would have shattered your heart into a million pieces? How could I have told you something that would have made you question your whole life? What sort of mother would that make me? Please don’t look at me like that. You’re breaking my heart in two. You had been so ill lately. You had been exhausted and seemed to have an unquenchable thirst. Both were signs of diabetes. Your dad and I had been so worried. You arranged a doctor’s appointment. The doctor sent you to the hospital for a blood test. I wanted to come with you yet, you wouldn’t let me. You knew I hated hospitals and so you told me to stay at home. You were always thinking of others. You went to the hospital on your own and had the blood test done. A few weeks later you got the results. Thankfully, they were all clear. Your dad and I were so relieved. The doctor had told you that your tiredness and thirst was probably due to the stress of your new job. You were ecstatic. You ran round here to show me the results. But, as you were sitting here, looking over the results card you realized something. Your blood group was O-negative. Mine and your dad’s were both A-positive. That couldn’t be possible. And now, you’re sitting here. You’re staring at me, hoping for an answer. You know deep down inside what the explanation will be. You just want me to say it out aloud. How can I tell you that you are adopted?