When my ex and I split, I chose to become a single mom through a s…p.3..r…m donor, sure I knew where my son came from. But when we moved back to my hometown, the way old friends stared at him made my heart sink.
My divorce from Jexon was still fresh when I decided I wanted a baby. Not a husband, not a boyfriend—just a little person to call mine.
“You’re really doing this?” my friend Katie asked, lounging on my couch as I scrolled through donor profiles. “Zeryn, you’re only 28.”
“And getting older every day.” I clicked another profile. “The right donor could show up any time.”
“The right donor,” she laughed. “Like picking a kid’s dad is like shopping online.”
“Better than my dating history,” I sighed, shutting my laptop and rubbing my eyes. “At least these guys are checked for health issues and criminal records. More than I can say for Jexon.”
“Good point,” Katie nodded, passing me a soda. “But what about love? Don’t you want your kid to have a dad?”
“They’ll have me. That’s enough.”
I sipped my Coke, remembering Jexon’s face when I brought up kids—like I’d suggested moving to the moon.
“Lots of kids grow up happy with one parent.”
The a s…p.3..r…m bank’s website became my nightly routine. Tall, brown hair, doctor. I picked out the perfect donor—no messy relationships, no letdowns, no Jexons. Just DNA in a clean vial.
Nate, my best friend since forever, was there for me. He even helped pack when I decided to move states for a fresh start.
“Connecticut?” He sealed a box, looking worried. “That’s basically Canada.”
“It’s where my mom grew up. She loved it. No family nearby, but I need a new beginning.” I labeled the box “Kitchen – Breakable” with a Sharpie.
“Yeah, but…” he messed with the tape. “What if you need help with the baby?”
“That’s what babysitters are for,” I said, nudging his shoulder. “Stop stressing.”
Nate was solid, unlike Katie, who still had a wild side. I loved her too, though.
Looking back, I shouldn’t have let her mix the drinks at my goodbye party. Nate, steady as always, kept me from falling into the cake.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Katie slurred, hugging me for the tenth time. “Who’s gonna watch Netflix with me on Wednesdays?”
“FaceTime’s a thing,” I said, leaning on Nate’s counter as the room spun.
“Don’t forget us little people in your fancy new life,” Nate said, walking me to my door. His arm around my waist felt warm, safe.
What happened next still pops into my dreams.
The next week, I did the insemination and left Atlanta.
Nine months later, Liam came screaming into the world, red-faced and perfect. His first cry hit me deep, unlocking a love I didn’t know I had.
Eight years passed, tiring but amazing. Liam grew into a smart, funny kid who asked too many questions and cracked himself up.
Life was simple, complete—just us two. Then my mom got sick, and we moved back.
“We’re going to Atlanta for a bit,” I told Liam over pizza, sauce on his face as usual. “Remember where Mommy grew up?”
He was excited for the adventure. “Will I meet your old friends?”
“You bet, buddy,” I said, wiping his face. “Grandma needs us for a while.”
“Cool. Can I have your crust?”
I planned to stay just long enough to help Mom get better. But walking Atlanta’s streets, something changed. Liam needed roots, family, more than just me. I’d left to escape Jexon’s memories, but maybe it was time to call this home again.
Then the weird looks started. At the grocery store, Mrs. Carter dropped her scanner when she saw Liam.
“My goodness,” she whispered, hand to mouth. “Is this your…”
“My son, Liam.” I pushed him forward. “Say hi, sweetie.”
“Hi,” Liam mumbled, shy. “Your store has good popsicles.”
She stared like he had two heads. She wasn’t the only one.
All week, old classmates did double-takes, then rushed off whispering. My old lab partner, Matt, tripped in the park.
“Your friends are weird, Mom,” Liam said after another odd moment. “They look at me funny.”
“They’re small-town people, honey. They’re not used to new faces.”
“Is there something on my face?” he asked, rubbing his cheek.
“No, baby. You’re perfect.”
But something was wrong. The stares got under my skin, though Mom’s needs kept me busy.
At the summer festival, cotton candy and grilled corn filled the air. Liam hadn’t made friends yet, with summer starting right after our move.
“Zeryn?” A familiar voice stopped me. “Is that you?”
Nate stood there, older but with that same goofy smile. A pretty woman held his arm, her wedding ring shining.
“Nate, hey!” I said, heart pounding. “This must be Sarah. I’ve heard so much from friends.”
We chatted politely, but Nate’s eyes moved to Liam, who was chomping a corn dog.
“This is Liam,” I said, feeling lighter. “My son.”
Sarah smiled warmly but frowned; Nate looked like he’d seen a ghost.
It hit me: Liam’s messy brown curls, the way his nose scrunched when he laughed, his stance—Nate at that age.
Why hadn’t I noticed?
“How…” Nate’s voice broke. “How old is he?”
“Eight,” I said, mind spinning. He knew the number—I’d had the procedure here, before leaving.
After Katie’s strong drinks at the goodbye party.
“Mom, another corn dog?” Liam tugged my sleeve, clueless about the bomb that just dropped. “I’ll eat my veggies, promise.”
“Sure, hon.”
Sarah excused herself for drinks, squeezing Nate’s arm.
“We need to talk,” Nate said, staring at Liam.
“Yeah,” I said, watching Liam run to the stand, his curls—Nate’s curls—bouncing. “I guess we do.”
“Does he…” Nate swallowed. “Know about his dad?”
“He thinks it was a donor,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s what I thought too. The timing…”
“The party,” Nate said, running a hand through his hair. “God, Zeryn. Why didn’t you call?”
“I swear I didn’t know. I did the procedure right after, like I planned. When he was born, I assumed… then I was busy settling in, being a mom. This explains the stares.”
Liam’s laughter rang out across the festival, and I smiled.
We agreed right away: get a test to be sure. We’d sort out the rest after the results.
The answers would come in two weeks. If Nate was the father, he’d want to be in Liam’s life—a good thing, maybe. Nate was always the dependable one, never letting anyone down. Sarah might not be happy, though.
My carefully planned single-mom life was changing again, but this time, I wasn’t running.
Sometimes the best stories are the ones you never planned to write.
