When my adopted daughter invited us to dinner

A Knife She Was Twisting

When my adopted daughter invited us to dinner, she said,

“Dad, I want you to meet my birth mother Natalie.”

She hadn’t told us Natalie would be there, and my husband Robert froze when this woman walked in looking exactly like our daughter Megan but 20 years older. While Megan stood there smiling like she’d done something wonderful, she said,

“I thought it was time you met.”

“After all, she’s my real mother.”

She said,

“Real,”

like it was a knife she was twisting and I’d raised her since she was three years old. Natalie walked straight to Robert and hugged him like they were old friends.

“I’ve heard so much about you. Megan says you’re the most amazing father.”

“Unlike her adoptive mother who’s been so cold to her.”

I hadn’t been cold; I’d been the one who stayed up with ear infections and taught her to read and paid for college. But Megan had been rewriting history.

“We should go.”

I stood up, but Megan grabbed my arm.

“Don’t be rude. Natalie came all this way to meet my dad.”

“She wants to thank him for raising me when she couldn’t.”

But the way Natalie was looking at Robert wasn’t grateful; it was calculating. Megan tells me,

“You’re unhappy in your marriage. That must be so hard.”

Robert looked confused.

“I never said that. We’re very happy.”

Megan laughed.

“Dad, you don’t have to pretend. You told me last week that mom was becoming distant, that you felt lonely.”

He’d said that after I’d been working double shifts at the hospital for a month to pay for Megan’s graduate school. That’s not what I meant and you know it. But Megan had already moved on to showing Natalie photos on her phone.

“Look, this is dad at the beach last summer. Doesn’t he look great for 45?”

Natalie touched Robert’s arm.

“You really do.”

Megan said,

“You work out every morning. I love athletic men.”

I watched my daughter feeding information to her birth mother like she was setting them up.

“What’s happening here?”

Megan smiled innocently.

“Natalie’s been through a hard time. Her husband left her with nothing. I thought maybe dad could help with some legal advice since he’s a lawyer.”

The Guest Room Demand

Robert did handle divorces, but this felt wrong.

“She’s staying at that awful motel downtown, dad. You always said we should help people in need. Maybe she could stay in our guest room.”

I said,

“Absolutely not.”

But Megan had tears in her eyes.

“She’s my biological mother. She gave me life. Don’t we owe her something?”

Natalie dabbed at her eyes.

“I don’t want to impose. Megan just said you had room and Robert wouldn’t mind.”

“She said you probably wouldn’t care since you’re never home anyway.”

I worked at a hospital saving lives, but apparently, that made me absent.

“Megan, what are you doing?”

She stood up and put her arm around Natalie.

“I’m helping my real mother who needs support and helping my dad who deserves someone who appreciates him.”

That’s when I understood she was trying to replace me with Natalie.

“You’re trying to break up our marriage.”

Megan rolled her eyes.

“Your marriage has been dead for years. Dad deserves better. Someone who puts family first, someone like Natalie who gave up everything for her children.”

Natalie had given up nothing. She’d been 19 and addicted to pills when she’d abandoned Megan at a fire station.

“She abandoned you. We raised you.”

But Megan shook her head.

“She made a sacrifice so I could have better. Then you swooped in and took me from her.”

Nobody swooped; we’d adopted her through the state after her birth mother’s rights were terminated.

“Dad, Natalie loves cooking. She made your favorite meal, the one mom never makes anymore.”

It was pot roast, which I’d made every Sunday until Megan became vegetarian and demanded we all stop eating meat in the house. Robert stood up.

“We’re leaving. Megan, this is sick. You’re trying to set me up with your birth mother.”

Natalie grabbed his hand.

“I know it seems sudden, but I feel such a connection. Megan’s told me everything about you: your favorite books, your morning routine, that birthmark on your shoulder.”

I stared at my daughter.

“You’ve been spying on your father for her.”

Megan shrugged.

“Natalie deserves to know the man who raised her daughter, and dad deserves someone young and fun. Natalie’s only 38. You’re 49, mom. The age gap makes more sense with them.”