The Anger of Ethan
As we walk in from the hospital, carrying the baby in our arms, Ethan is waiting in the living room, arms crossed, brow furrowed. Hes only eight, but his expression seems much older. For months hes been excited for his little sisters arrival, but now that shes here, something feels different.
Is she here, then? he asks, not coming any closer, his voice icy and distant.
Yes, love. Come and meet your little sister, I say, showing him the tiny bundle wrapped in her pink blanket.
But he doesnt budge. He stands there, watching us from afar, as if were complete strangers.
She came from Mums tummy, he mutters, looking down. I didnt. Im not like her.
His words hit me hard, as if punched in the stomach. For three years weve spoken openly and happily about his adoption, always celebrating it. I thought he understood and felt safe. But the arrival of the new baby has stirred up feelings we never expected.
Ethan
The kids at school said youll like her more because shes really your daughter! he bursts out, tears streaming down his cheeks. And Im just borrowed!
Before I can say anything, he throws himself onto the floor dramatically.
I dont want her! Take her back to the hospital! he shouts, kicking the sofa. I was here first! I was your only child!
The baby starts crying at his loud voice. Ethan only gets more upset.
See! Shes already crying and I didnt even do anything! Youll always think its my fault! he sobs, pounding his fists against the carpet.
My heart breaks at his pain, but I know I must stay calm. I leave the baby with my wife and sit beside him on the floor, not touching him yet.
Ethan, I know youre angry, I say quietly. Do you know what the difference is between you and her?
That shes better than me! he yells, sniffling and wiping his nose with his sleeve. That you made her, and you just found me because my real parents didnt want me!
No, love. That isnt true, I reply, my throat tightening.
Yes it is! he whimpers, turning away from me. And youll throw away my toys to make room for hers! And youll give her my bedroom!
Ethan, please listen
No! I dont want to listen! He covers his ears with his hands. I want her gone! I hate that baby!
I take a deep breath. Underneath all that anger, I know, is feara lot of fear.
Son, the difference is, we didnt have to find her. But we chose you. Out of thousands of children, we knew you were the perfect one for us.
He turns around slowly, face red and streaked with tears, not shouting anymore.
Did did you really do all that for me? he asks, voice trembling.
We did. And the first time I saw you, I knew every single day waiting had been worth it. She came when it was her time, but you you were a conscious, loving choice.
Ethan wipes away his tears with his jumper sleeve.
But you wont love her more?
Impossible, love. A parents heart isnt like thatit grows to fit all the children equally. Now youre both our children. Youre both siblings.
He sits quietly for a few seconds, thinking about my words. Then he moves closer and gently touches his sisters tiny hand, sleeping in his mums arms.
Shes so little, he whispers, amazed at her soft skin.
Just like you used to be.
Can I hold her?
Of course.
Carefully, I place the baby in his arms. Ethan looks at her with a mix of wonder and tenderness that fills me with hope.
Hello, little sister, he whispers. Im Ethan, your big brother. Ill always look after you, I promise.
The baby opens her eyes as if shes heard him, and for the first time in days, Ethan truly smiles.
Mateo’s Anger
When we arrived home from the hospital holding the baby in our arms, Mateo was waiting for us in the living room, arms folded and brow furrowed. He was only eight years old, but his gaze felt much older. For months he had been excited about his little sister’s arrival, but now that she was here, something had changed.
“Is she here already?” he asked, keeping his distance, his voice cold and distant.
“Yes, love. Come meet your little sister,” I said, showing him the baby wrapped in her pink blanket.
But he didn’t move. He just stared at us from across the room, as though we were strangers.
“She came out of Mum’s tummy,” he mumbled, looking down. “I didn’t. I’m not like her.”
His words hit me like a punch to the stomach. We had talked openly and lovingly about his adoption for three years. I thought he understood, that he felt secure. But the new arrival had stirred feelings we never expected.
“Mateo…”
“The kids at school said you’ll love her more because she’s your real child!” he exploded, tears streaming down his cheeks. “And I’m just borrowed!”
Before I could answer, he flung himself to the floor in dramatic protest.
“I don’t want her! Take her back to the hospital!” he cried, kicking at the sofa. “I was here first! I was your only child!”
His tears made the baby cry, which made Mateo’s upset worse.
“See! She’s crying and I haven’t even done anything! You’ll always blame me!” he sobbed, pounding the floor with his fists.
My heart broke, but I knew I had to stay calm. I handed the baby to my wife and sat beside him on the floor, not touching him yet.
“Mateo, I understand you’re angry,” I said softly. “Do you know what’s different between you and her?”
“She’s better than me!” he shouted between his sobs, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “You made her and you found me because my real parents didn’t want me!”
“No, sweetheart, that’s not true,” I replied, my throat tightening.
“Yes it is!” he wailed, turning away. “And now you’ll throw away my toys to make room for hers. You’ll give her my room too!”
“Mateo, listen…”
“No! I don’t want to listen!” he clapped his hands over his ears. “I want her gone! I hate that baby!”
I took a deep breath. Underneath that anger, there was a lot of fear.
“Mateo, the difference is we didn’t have to look for her—but we searched for you. We chose you from among thousands of children because you were perfect for us.”
He turned around slowly, face red, streaming with tears—but not screaming anymore.
“Did you really do all that for me?” he asked, voice trembling.
“We really did. And when I saw you for the first time, I knew every day of waiting was worth it. She came when she was meant to, but you—choosing you was an act of love.”
Mateo wiped his tears with his sweater sleeve.
“But you won’t love her more?”
“Impossible, sweetheart. Parents’ hearts don’t work that way. They grow big enough to fit every child equally. Now you’re both our children. Both siblings.”
He thought for a few moments before quietly approaching and gently touching his little sister’s hand as she slept peacefully in her mum’s arms.
“She’s tiny,” he whispered, amazed by her soft skin.
“You were once, too.”
“Can I hold her?”
“Of course.”
Carefully, I placed the baby in his arms. Mateo looked at her with wonder and tenderness that gave me hope.
“Hello, little sister,” he whispered. “I’m Mateo, your big brother. And I’ll always look after you. I promise.”
The baby opened her eyes as if she heard him, and for the first time in days, Mateo smiled for real.
