We Adopted a 3 Year Old Boy, When My Husband Went to Bathe Him for the First Time, He Shouted, We Must Return Him

Years of infertility led us to adopt Sam, our cherished three-year-old with striking blue eyes. On our first night together, my husband Mark panicked while bathing him, yelling, “We have to return him!” Confused, I went to check, only to spot a familiar birthmark on Sam’s foot.

I later discovered the shocking truth: Sam was Mark’s biological son from a one-night affair years prior. Mark’s guilt surged when he recognized the birthmark, but he refused to address it directly. After confirming the connection with a DNA test, I decided to take action. I filed for divorce and full custody, knowing Sam deserved a stable, loving home.

Since then, Sam and I have built a joyful life together. Mark, distant by choice, occasionally sends cards, but Sam has thrived despite it all. When people ask if I regret staying that first night, I say no. Sam is my son, and choosing him was the best decision I ever made.

My husband threw all my paintings away. I decided to give him a real lesson now

When I discovered Tim had thrown away my paintings, it felt like a piece of my soul had been ripped away. Each stroke of paint, each color combination, each image on the canvas represented hours of joy, frustration, and fulfillment. But to him, they were nothing but “junk.”

A Moment of Realization

That evening, exhausted from work, I decided to revisit an old painting that I believed had more potential. The idea of reworking it filled me with a rare excitement. However, my anticipation turned to horror when I descended into the basement, only to find it empty. The walls were bare, the shelves clean, and my paintings—gone. I stood there in shock, a cold sense of loss washing over me. How could he do this? How could he erase a part of my life so carelessly?

Confrontation and Anger

I stormed upstairs, fury bubbling inside me. There he was, lounging on the couch, engrossed in a football game, a bag of chips in hand. “Tim! Where are my f***ing paintings?” I demanded, my voice shaking with rage.

He glanced at me nonchalantly and said, “Oh, honey, relax. You should be thanking me for taking out that junk.”

For Illustrative purpose only

His dismissive attitude was the final straw. I exploded in anger, yelling at him, but he remained unbothered, barely acknowledging my distress. It was clear he didn’t understand or care about the pain he’d caused.

The Plan for Revenge

As I stood there, seething, a plan began to form in my mind. If he could so casually discard something that meant so much to me, then he deserved a taste of his own medicine. I decided to retaliate in a way that would hit him where it hurt the most.

For Illustrative purpose only

The next day, I waited until Tim left for work. Fueled by a sense of righteous indignation, I methodically gathered all his cherished belongings—his prized football memorabilia, his vintage record collection, even his favorite recliner. I loaded everything into the back of my car and drove to the nearest charity shop. Watching the workers unload his precious items, I felt a twisted sense of satisfaction. Let’s see how he likes it, I thought.

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