After my divorce from Ethan — a man who never wanted kids — I made a decision that startled even my closest friends: I would become a mother on my own, using a sperm donor. No husband, no boyfriend. Just me and a baby I had longed for.

I spent weeks researching donors — tall, intelligent, healthy. Choosing the father of my future child from a profile felt surreal, but I was resolute: I didn’t need a man, just the chance to love a child.

Nine months later, Alan was born. He had wild brown curls, a laugh that made strangers smile, and a spark of wonder in everything he touched. For eight joyful years, it was just the two of us. And it was enough.

But when my mother fell ill, I moved us back to my hometown. That’s when things got… strange.

People stared at Alan. The woman at the grocery store dropped her scanner when she saw him. Former classmates would glance, whisper, and quickly look away. Even Alan noticed. “Mom, why do your friends look at me like that?”

“They’re just surprised,” I told him gently. “They haven’t met you yet.”

But the unease grew — until the summer festival.

There, I ran into Jude — my childhood best friend. He was older now, with a few gray streaks in his hair, but his smile was just as warm. He was with his wife, Eleanor, when I introduced Alan.

“This is my son, Alan,” I said casually.

But Jude froze. His eyes locked on Alan like he’d seen a ghost.Read More Below