I fell in love with my neighbour right away, even though she was already married. I knew he had a wife and kids, but that didn’t stop me. Recently, he asked me to watch his kids while his wife was in the hospital. I agreed. I was pleasantly surprised when I saw his kids since they looked just like myself.
Not in the general sense that “kids look like everyone.” I mean, really, like me. When they smiled, they had the same eyes, nose shape, and even the same dimple on their left cheek. When the oldest one, a boy of around eight, turned his head like I did when I was confused, I couldn’t breathe.
There were so many ideas flying through my head. Could it be? No, it couldn’t have been. I had never met him in person. Only in my mind. In an emotional way. I made up stories about him just by seeing him mow the lawn or wave to the mailman. That was all there was.
I tried to get rid of it. I might have read too much into it. It might have been a coincidence. But the longer I was with the kids—three of them—the more I couldn’t help but notice how alike they were. They were polite and funny, and I could relate to their sense of humour. In someone else’s universe, it felt like I was seeing tiny copies of myself.
When he got back that night, I told him, “Your kids are so cute.” They look a lot like someone I know.
He smiled and took off his coat, but he wasn’t really paying attention. “Yeah? People say they look like their mum.
I didn’t say anything else. I just nodded and left, but the idea kept nagging me.
The next day, I pondered of memories that I hadn’t thought about in a long time. I remembered that I had given. I gave up my eggs ten years ago when I was poor and needed money. They promised me it would be a secret and that I would never see or meet the kids. I was 20 at the time. Young. Simple. I thought I was just helping someone establish a family.
But what if…
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I sat there looking at the ceiling, wondering if life had just played a joke on me. The man I had been dreaming about and maybe even planning a future with could be the father of the kids I made with my own eggs.
I decided to be brave. The next time I babysat, I asked him in a low voice, “Can I ask you something personal?”
He looked up, surprised but still polite. “Yes.”
“How did you and your wife have kids?” I hope this doesn’t sound rude. But… they look like me. A lot.
He paused. He stopped for longer than he was comfortable with. He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “We had trouble becoming pregnant. A benefactor helped us. Egg donor. The clinic said she was “tall, smart, artistic, and had green eyes.”
“That’s me,” I murmured, barely able to breathe.
His eyes got bigger. “What?”
“I gave. The event took place ten years ago. I never found out who got them.
The room got quiet. The fridge hummed in the background. He sat down slowly and looked at me as if I were a ghost. “Are you really serious?”
I nodded my head. “I didn’t know.” Up until I saw them. It feels like portions of myself are roaming about in your living room.
He seemed terrified, but not crazy. Way too much. “My wife doesn’t know who gave the money.” No one knew. Wow, this is a lot.
We were silent. There was nothing else to say at that point.
Things changed in the next few days. In a hurry. I continued to babysit, but things were tight now. The tension wasn’t that bad. There was just a lot of confusion. This is the kind of doubt that comes up when things in the world change around you.
Then, one afternoon, his wife came home. She had just come back from surgery, and now she was back, beaming, tired, and full of warmth. She hugged her kids tightly and thanked me in a way that broke my heart.
I felt horrible. I’m really sorry.
Even though I hadn’t done anything with her husband, what I felt was real. Now that I understood that her kids were, in some strange biological way, also mine, I didn’t know how to live in their house without breaking.
She asked me to tea with her later that week. Only the two of us.
I thought about her invitation, but in the end I went.
We sat on her porch as the kids played. “I know something is going on,” she continued, looking me directly in the eyes. You and him.
My heart dropped. “I swear, nothing has ever happened in person. I just—
“I’m not stupid,” she murmured softly. “I saw how he looks at you.” And how you look at the kids. I know you gave.
It seemed like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on me. “How—?”
“I saw your picture once.” The picture was taken at the clinic. There isn’t enough information in your profile. “But your eyes…” I never forgot those eyes.
I couldn’t say anything.
She drank her tea. ” At first, I was quite angry. Then I thought, “This might be exactly what was meant to happen.”
“What do you mean?”
She smiled sadly. “You gave us something we never thought we’d get.” You gave me my kids. And now you’re here. “Like the universe pulled you close.” “Maybe not to take something, but to heal something.”
I cried. “I never wanted to get in the way.”
She said softly, “I believe you.” “But I need to ask you something right now.”
I got set.
“Please… leave me alone.”
It felt like a hit in the gut.
She quickly said, “I don’t hate you.” “But my kids don’t know the truth.” They don’t have to do it. I need to keep this family secure. “Let us be whole,” please leave us alone.
I nodded, but I couldn’t say anything.
After that, I stopped taking care of youngsters. I did my best to stay away from the block. The emotional suffering was worse than I thought it would be. I let go of the unfulfilled dream, the kids I met for a short time, and the man I loved but never told him how I felt.
Time passed. I got very into my work, my hobbies, and my life. The pain slowly went away. But it never fully went away.
Then, on a Sunday, I got a letter. Someone wrote the letter by hand. From her.
It said:
“I just wanted to let you know that we’re okay. The kids are doing well. I told them a story about a pretty young woman who helped us when Mommy was sick. They know you. They were curious about you. I told them you were on your way now. I truly did mean it.
You will always be a part of our story, no matter what. You meant a lot. Thanks for everything you gave us, including your time, love, and heart, not just your eggs. I didn’t forget that. I hope you find someone who sees you the way you want them to. And I hope you get the type of crazy and happy that you helped us have.
“From Mira, with love.”
I cried when I was done. But not because they were sad. It was the kind of crying that makes you forget about the guilt, the pain, and the what-ifs.
I moved a year later. I got a new job in a city that wasn’t mine. I got a job at a children’s facility, where I helped kids with their homework. It felt nice. I finally felt like I was using that strange, motherly ache for something good.
Then I met someone one day. Not a father, not a neighbour, not a fantasy, but real. On the ground. Honest. He also worked with the children. At first, we were friends. We had a nice time over coffee. We both had scars on our knuckles and told each other stories of growing up poor but hopeful.
He didn’t flinch when I informed him about my past as a donor. He said, “You helped make a miracle.” You should be proud of that.
At that moment, I knew I had finally come full circle.
It’s not that I met the man of my dreams. But I got myself back. And on my trip, I met someone who loved me for who I was, not for what I had done for other people.
Love isn’t always what we believe it is. It can come when things are calm, in letters we didn’t expect, in new cities, and at the start of anything new.
The best endings happen when we stop wanting what we thought we wanted and make place for something better.
Plans can change in surprising ways as life happens. Sometimes what we think is heartbreak is truly the path to the life we always needed.
