I Returned to My Hometown with My Son, but My Old Friends Gave Him Shocking Stares — Only Later Did I Find Out Why

After choosing single motherhood through a sperm donor, I was sure I knew everything about my son's origins. But when we moved back to my hometown, the way my old friends stared at his features made my stomach drop.

My divorce papers weren't even cold when I decided I wanted a baby. Not a husband, not a boyfriend. Just a tiny human to call my own.

After my ex, Ethan, made it clear he'd never want kids and asked to separate, the path ahead seemed obvious. I'd become a single mom by choice.

"You're seriously going through with this?" my friend, Olivia, asked from her spot on my couch while watching me scroll through donor profiles. "Girl, you're only 28."

"And getting older by the minute." I clicked through another profile. "Plus, the right donor could pop up any day."

"The right donor," she snorted. "As if picking the father of your child is like online shopping."

"Better than my dating history," I sighed, and I closed my laptop, rubbing my tired eyes. "At least these guys are pre-screened for genetic diseases and criminal records. More than I can say for my ex."

"Fair point," Olivia nodded and handed me a soda can. "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 while remembering Ethan's face when I'd mentioned children. The way he'd recoiled like I'd suggested we move to Mars.

"Besides, plenty of kids grow up happy with single parents."

***

The sperm bank's website became my nightly ritual. Six-foot-two, brown hair, medical degree. I treated this search like building my dream man, except this one would only contribute DNA.

No messy relationships, no disappointments, no Ethans. Just the gift of life, wrapped in a sterile specimen cup.

Jude, my best friend since forever, supported me through it all. He even helped me pack when I decided to move states for a fresh start.

"Connecticut?" He taped another box shut, his forehead wrinkled in concern. "That's practically Canada."

"It's where my mom grew up. She loved it there. It might be nice. I'd have no family nearby, but I really need a new start." I labeled the box "Kitchen - Fragile" in bold Sharpie strokes.

"Yeah, but..." he began while fiddling with the packing tape. "What if you need help? With the baby?"

"That's what babysitters are for," I said and bumped his shoulder with mine. "Stop worrying so much."

Jude was one of the best parts of my life, and my farewell party was his idea. He was grounded and reliable, unlike Olivia, who still had a wild side. I loved her too, though.

But looking back, I should've known better than to let her mix the drinks. Luckily, as the night blurred from laughter to tears, Jude stuck close.

He made sure I didn't faceplant into my goodbye cake.

"I can't believe you're really leaving," Olivia slurred, hugging me for the tenth time. "Who's gonna be my Netflix Wednesday buddy?"

"FaceTime exists for a reason," I said, steadying myself against Jude's kitchen counter. The room had started spinning at some point.

"Promise you won't forget us little people when you're living your fancy upstate life," Jude said later, walking me to my door. Suddenly, I noticed that his arm around my waist felt warm and secure.

So, what happened next still visits me in dreams.

***

The following week, I went through with the insemination procedure and left Atlanta behind.

Nine months later, Alan came screaming into the world, all red-faced and perfect. His first cry pierced something deep inside me and unlocked a love I never knew existed.

Eight years passed, and even though it was tiring, I knew I was born to be a mother. My son grew into a smart, funny kid who asked too many questions and laughed at his own jokes.

Life was good, simple. Our little family of two felt complete. Then my mom got sick, and I had to go back.

"We're moving to Atlanta for a while," I told Alan over pizza. His face was smeared with sauce, just like always. "Remember where Mommy grew up?"

He took it better than expected, excited about the adventure. "Will I get to meet your old friends?"

"Sure will, buddy," I said and wiped his face with a napkin. "And Grandma needs our help for some time."

"Cool. Can I finish your crust?"

***

I hadn't planned on staying long, just enough to help Mom through her recovery. But walking those familiar streets, something shifted.

Alan needed roots and family. More than just me. Also, I hadn't realized I'd left because of everything that happened with Ethan.

But now that I was back, it hit me: I'd run from the memories of my failed relationship, so maybe, it was time to settle back into my real home.

Except… something strange began happening. Whispers. They started at the grocery store. Mrs. Henderson, who was still manning the same register after all these years, dropped her scanner when she saw Alan.

"Oh my word," she whispered as her hand flew to her mouth. "Is this your..."

"My son, Alan." I nudged him forward. "Say hi, sweetie."

"Hi," Alan mumbled, suddenly shy. "Your store has good popsicles."

She kept staring at him like he'd grown a second head, and she wasn't the only one.

Throughout the week, similar reactions followed. Old classmates would spot us, do a double-take, and then hurry away whispering.

Michael, my former lab partner, actually tripped over his own feet when we passed him in the park.

"Your friends are weird, Mom," Alan said after another awkward encounter. "They look at me funny."

"They're small-town folk, honey. They're just not used to new faces."

"Do I have something on my face?" he asked and rubbed his cheek self-consciously.

"No, baby. You're perfect just as you are."

But something wasn't right. The stares and the shocked expressions were grating on my nerves. Yet, I forgot about it as my mother needed more and more attention.

Then came the summer festival. I took Alan, and we both enjoyed the smell of cotton candy and grilled corn. I felt bad because we'd moved to Atlanta right at the start of summer and Alan hadn't had a chance to make friends, which was easier at school.

"Amelia?" A familiar voice stopped me. "Is that really you?"

Jude stood there. He looked older, but he still had that same crooked smile. However, a gorgeous, chic woman held his arm, and I immediately saw her wedding ring as it caught and reflected the sunlight.

Regardless, I focused back on my friend. Time had been kind to him. He had only a few gray hairs at his temples and laugh lines around his eyes, but he was still undeniably Jude.

"Jude, hey!" I said, trying to act casual, but my heart was hammering. "This must be Eleanor. I've heard so much about you from mutual friends."

We went through the typical pleasantries, but my friend's curious eyes soon drifted to Alan, who was busy demolishing a corn dog.

"This is Alan," I said, feeling more relaxed. "My son."

Eleanor smiled warmly but frowned, and Jude looked like he'd seen a ghost.

That's when it hit me: Alan's unruly brown curls, the way his nose crinkled when he laughed, even how he stood with one hip cocked… he was the spitting image of Jude at that age.

Why hadn't I seen it before?

"How..." Jude's voice cracked. "How old is he?"

"Eight," I breathed, still reeling from the realization. He knew that number, of course, because I had the procedure here, right before leaving.

But it had been after my farewell party and Olivia's heavy drinks.

"Mom, can I get another corn dog?" Alan tugged my sleeve, oblivious to the bomb that had just detonated in our little circle. "Please? I promise I'll eat my vegetables at dinner."

"Sure, hon."

Eleanor excused herself to get drinks, but she squeezed Jude's arm before walking away.

"We need to talk," Jude said, still staring at Alan like he was trying to memorize every detail.

"Yeah," I said as I watched my son run to the corn dog stand. His hair, with Jude's curls, bounced in the summer breeze. "I guess we do."

"Does he..." Jude swallowed hard. "I mean, have you told him about his father?"

"He thinks it was a donor," I replied, shaking my head. It's what I thought, too. "I never imagined... I mean, the timing..."

"The party," Jude said, running a hand through his hair. "God, Amelia. Why didn't you call me?"

"I swear I didn't know. I really didn't. I went through with the procedure the week after that, just like I planned. When he was born, I just assumed… and then, I was so caught up in settling in a new place and as a mom... this is why everyone has been staring him funny."

Alan's laughter echoed across the festival grounds, and I smiled.

Afterward, Jude and I agreed almost immediately on one thing: get a test, just to make sure. We would figure the rest out after the results.

We went through it, and the answers would arrive in two weeks. I knew Jude would want to be part of Alan's life if the tests proved paternity, and maybe, that was a blessing.

Because Jude had always been the good guy, the responsible one, the friend who never let anyone down. Of course, he'd want to be a father to his son. I didn't know if his wife would be happy about it.

But in any case, my perfectly planned life of being a single mother seemed about to change again, and this time, I wasn't running away.

Sometimes the best stories are the ones we never meant to write.

Here's another story: When Lori and Chris return from their dreamy honeymoon, they are eager to welcome life as a married couple. But as they enter their home, they find a large black box in their hallway. What would have been a wedding present turns into the very thing that destroys their relationship...

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided "as is," and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.