Off The Record
I Came Home From Work And Found My 16-Year-Old Adopted Twin Daughters Had Locked Me Out Of My Own House
After my late husband’s hidden life was exposed by his deadly vehicle accident, I adopted his secret twin daughters thirteen years ago. They locked me out of my house when I was sixteen, even though I gave them everything. A week later, I learned the startling rationale behind their behavior.
Andrew’s death morning started just like any other. Everything was bathed in a gentle, golden light from the sun that had just begun to peak through my window, giving even my run-down countertops an almost mystical appearance.
It was the last time I would experience normalcy for a very long time.
I nearly ignored the phone when it rang. At 7:30 in the morning, who makes the call? However, for some reason—perhaps intuition—I picked up.
“Is this Ruth?” The formal, hesitating voice of a man.
“Speaking.” As I continued to watch the steam dance, I took another sip of coffee.
“Madam, I work for the Police Department as Officer Matthews. I regret to notify you that this morning your husband was involved in an accident. He did not make it out alive.”
The mug broke against the linoleum as it fell out of my grasp. I hardly noticed the splash of coffee on my bare feet. “What?” “No, that isn’t my Andrew.”
“Ma’am…” The cop’s tone grew softer. “There is more that you should know. Two surviving daughters and another deceased woman were in the car. They are confirmed to be Andrew’s offspring by records in our database.”
I barely noticed the coffee seeping into my robe as I slid down the kitchen cupboard until I hit the floor.
Ten years of marriage broke like my coffee mug, and the room whirled around me. “Children?”
“Ma’am, twin girls. Three years old is their age.”
three years old. Three years of late meetings, business trips, and lies. For three years, a different family lived next to me, out of sight. While I had been going through infertility treatments and the heartbreak of two miscarriages, the guy had been living a completely different life.
“Madam? Are you still present?”
I muttered, “Yes,” but I wasn’t positive. Not at all. “What… what happens to them now?”
“There were no surviving relatives for their mother. They’re in emergency foster care right now until—”
I ended the call. I was unable to listen to any more.
The funeral was a haze of mournful glances and black attire. Like a statue, I stood there taking condolences from people who weren’t sure whether to treat me like a disdained lady or a heartbroken widow.
But then I noticed those two small creatures holding hands so tightly that their knuckles were white, dressed in matching black robes. The secret daughters of my hubby.
One was biting her thumb. Her dress’s hem was being picked at by the other. They appeared so disoriented and isolated. I felt sorry for them even though Andrew’s treachery was hurtful.
My mother said, “Those poor things,” next to me. “Today, their foster family was unable to attend. Is it possible? The social worker is the only person present to assist them.”
As if they were two halves of the same person, I saw one twin slip and her sister instantly catch her. There was a crack in my chest.
I listened to myself say, “I’ll take them,”
Mom looked at me with disbelief.
“You can’t be serious, Ruth, honey. following his actions?”
“Mom, look at them. They are by themselves and are innocent in all of this.”
Commercial “But—”
“I was unable to produce children of my own. Perhaps this is the reason.”
A nightmare of paperwork and curious glances was the adoption procedure.
Why would I want the secret children of my unfaithful husband? Was I sufficiently stable mentally? Was this retaliation in some kind?
However, I persisted, and ultimately Carrie and Dana were mine.
It was a dance of sorrow and healing during those early years. As though they were waiting for me to change my mind, the girls were nice but cautious. Late at night, I would hear them chatting in whispers, planning for “when she sends us away.”
Every time, it shattered my heart.
“We’re having mac and cheese again?” One evening, with her nose furrowed, seven-year-old Dana questioned.
“It’s what we can afford this week, sweetie,” I responded, attempting to seem light-hearted. “But look — I put extra cheese on yours, just how you like it.”
There must have been something in my voice that Carrie, who is generally the more sensitive one, heard. She gave her sister an elbow.
She declared, “Mac and cheese is my favorite,” but I knew it wasn’t.
I realized I had to be honest with them by the time they turned ten. The whole truth.
I felt like I might throw up as I sat on my bed and watched their naive faces, even though I had practiced the phrases a hundred times in front of my bathroom mirror.
I began, “Girls,” with shaking hands. “There’s something about your father and how you came to be my daughters that you need to know.”
Mirror images of focus, they sat cross-legged on my tattered quilt.
I filled them in on everything, including their birth mother, Andrew’s double life, and the awful morning I received the call. I told them how seeing them at the funeral shattered my heart and how I knew we were meant to be together at that moment.
The ensuing quiet seemed to go on forever. Dana’s freckles stood out like paint dots on her pale skin. Carrie’s bottom lip quivered.
“So… so Dad was a liar?” Dana’s tone faltered. “He was cheating on you?”
“And our real mom…” Carrie encircled herself with her arms. “She died because of him?”
“My dear, that was an accident. A horrible mishap.”
“But you…” Something harsh and terrible crept into Dana’s youthful face as her eyes narrowed. “You just took us? Like… like a consolation reward of some sort?”
“No! I brought you along because—”
“Because you felt sorry for us?” Carrie broke off, her eyes now welling. “Because you couldn’t have your own kids?”
I reached for them and said, “I took you because I loved you the moment I saw you,” but they both recoiled. “You weren’t a comforting reward. You were a gift.”
“Liar!” Dana jumped off the bed and spat. “Everyone is lying!” “Come on, Carrie!”
They shut the door after running to their room. The latch clicked, and then I heard hushed cries and angry murmurs.
The years that followed were a minefield. We occasionally had pleasant days when we went shopping or spent movie nights snuggled up on the couch. However, the blades were drawn anytime they were enraged.
“At least our real mom wanted us from the start!”
“Maybe she’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you!”
Each barb was surgically precise in its mark. I endured their hardships in the hopes that they would eventually come to terms with the fact that they were approaching adolescence.
Shortly after the girls’ sixteenth birthday, that terrible day arrived.
My key wouldn’t turn in the lock when I got home from work. The note that was pinned to the door caught my attention.
“We’ve grown up.” We must have our own area. It said, “Go live with your mom.”
For all my hopes, my suitcase waited by the entrance like a coffin. I could hear movement within, but nobody was responding to my banging or calls. After an hour of standing there, I got back into my car.
I paced like an animal in a cage at Mom’s house.
She said, “They’re acting out,” as she observed me causing a mess in her carpet. “Testing your love.”
“What if it’s more than that?” I gazed at my phone, which was silent. “What happens if they ultimately determine that I’m not worth it? that I’m only the sympathetic woman who took them in?”
“Ruth, you stop that right now.” Mom took hold of my shoulders.
“For thirteen years, you have been their mother in all significant ways. Yes, they are in pain. They are upset over things that neither of you can alter. However, they adore you.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because they’re acting exactly like you did at sixteen.” She gave a sorrowful smile. “Remember when you ran away to Aunt Sarah’s?”
Yes, I did. What was it I’d been so upset about? Something insignificant. After three days, I returned due to homesickness.
Another five days passed slowly.
I reported to work unwell. I didn’t eat much. I always jumped for my phone when it buzzed, only to be let down by a worried friend’s text or another spam call.
I eventually received the call I had been waiting for on the sixth day.
“Mom?” Like when she used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms, Carrie’s voice sounded quiet and little. “Are you able to return home? Would you please?”
My heart was in my throat as I drove back.
When I hurried through the front door, I had no idea that my house had been completely changed. The floors shone and the walls were freshly painted.
“Surprise!” And the girls came out of the kitchen, smiling like they had as children.
“We’ve been planning this for months,” Dana said, hopping up and down. “Working at the mall, babysitting, saving everything.”
Shedded shyly, “Sorry for the mean note,” Carrie added. “It was the only way we could think of to keep it a surprise.”
They showed me their lovely home office, which had once been their nursery. A picture of the three of us on adoption day, smiling and crying, was hanging by the window, and the walls were a gentle lavender color.
Carrie murmured, “You gave us a family, Mom,” with tears in her eyes. “Even though we served as a reminder of everything that hurt, you didn’t have to. You’ve been the greatest mother ever, yet you still choose us.”
Feeling my ladies’ hearts beat against mine, I drew them close while inhaling the scent of their shampoo.
“The nicest things that have ever occurred to me are you two. You provided me with motivation to continue. You will never understand how much I adore you.”
Dana responded, “But we do know, Mom,” though her voice was muffled by my shoulder. “We’ve always known.”
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