Your mum and I hit it off from the moment we met. She was friendly and glamorous. She was going out with my best friend. When I suddenly had an accommodation crisis, she invited me to move into a spare room for a nominal rent. At my friend’s encouragement, I accepted.
The night I moved in, she tried to seduce me. I was taken aback. I said her boyfriend would not like it, to which she replied that they were not really going out. I said that was not how he saw it. She tried to kiss me and I politely but firmly backed off, said goodnight and went to my room. She followed and climbed into my bed. I asked her to leave but she wouldn’t. We slept there together that night.
The next day she acted as if nothing had happened. I liked her very much and blamed it on the alcohol. I didn’t want to hurt my friend. What could I do? Tell him? Move out the day after I had moved in? That would mean more questions than answers. A pattern was set. When my friend didn’t come over and stay the night, she would get into my bed uninvited. We would chat and cuddle but not have sex. He began to suspect something. His visits became less frequent and she told me they had broken up. Our relationship then became sexual and I started to really like her. We spent most nights, but not all, in my room, although we didn’t go out as a couple.
Then one day I woke up alone and found my friend having breakfast in our kitchen. They had got back together and he had stayed the night with her in her room. I was shocked, broken-hearted and angry. I moved out as soon as possible. I didn’t see either of them for a while until I bumped into them at a party. She was heavily pregnant and he was quite the proud father-to-be. I was mortified. I did the maths. The child could be mine.
They married shortly after your birth and you now have siblings, too. My friend and I remain close, but your mum is very antagonistic towards me. On my occasional visits when you were little, it was hard to tell whose son you were. As you got older, I could see a stronger resemblance. You are now a teenager and almost as big as me. You take after me and not my friend in your height, body shape, eye colour and facial features. In fact, you look nothing like my friend, but a lot like me.
I think my friend knows. He is a good man, loves you very much and is your father to all intents and purposes. He lets me into your life. I spoke to you briefly recently and it was like talking to a younger version of myself. You walk and act as I did at your age. You want to have the same job that I wanted at that age. You are good at the same subjects at school. Your eyes are my eyes. I felt sure that everyone there could see the resemblance and figure it out, so I kept the chat short.
I think about you most days. I check up on you surreptitiously on social media sometimes. I am glad that you live in a loving, happy family in comfortable circumstances. You are my only child – but I can tell no one. My father left the family when I was young, never to be seen or heard from again, and I promised myself that if I ever had kids I would be there for them. One day, I can perhaps be there for you, but I can never call you Son.
Anonymous
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