After my divorce from Ethan — who never wanted children —
I made a decision that surprised even my closest friends: I was going to become a single mother through sperm donation.
No husband, no boyfriend. Just me and a baby.I picked a donor carefully —
tall, smart, healthy. It felt strange building the idea of a child from a profile, but I was certain of one thing: I wanted to be a mother.
Nine months later, my son Alan was born. He had unruly brown curls, a bright laugh, and a curiosity that filled our home with light. For eight years, it was just us — and it was enough. Then my mother fell ill, and we moved back to my hometown.
That’s when I noticed something strange. At the grocery store, the woman at the register dropped her scanner when she saw Alan. Former classmates would stare, whisper, and turn away. Alan noticed too. “Mom, why do your friends look at me funny?”
“They’re just surprised,” I told him. “They haven’t seen you before.” But the unease grew — until the summer festival. There, I ran into Jude — my best friend from the old days. Time had given him a few gray hairs, but his warm smile hadn’t changed. He was with his wife, Eleanor, but when his eyes met Alan’s, he froze.
“This is my son, Alan,” I said. Jude couldn’t speak at first. He just stared.
Alan, meanwhile, smiled and ran off for another corn dog. “How old is he?” Jude finally asked. “Eight,” I said, suddenly breathless. And then it hit me —
Alan’s features, his posture, even the way he crinkled his nose when he laughed — they were Jude’s. I thought back to the night of my farewell party. The drinks.
The hug that lingered. The warmth of Jude’s arm around me. Could it be? “I thought he was from a donor,” I whispered.
“I went through with the procedure after the party… but now…” We agreed to a paternity test.
Two weeks later, the results confirmed what our hearts already suspected.Jude was Alan’s father.
It changed everything. My carefully built life — one I thought I controlled — suddenly opened up to something unexpected. Something messier, maybe, but more meaningful. I’d planned to raise Alan alone. But maybe fate had other plans all along.
