When my husband said our daughter wasn’t “European” enough, I knew I had to act. I devised a plan to teach him a lesson, but as I watched his world crumble, I wondered if I’d gone too far.
There I was, standing in my living room, staring at my husband like he was a stranger. My world tilted on its axis as Peter’s words hung in the air between us.
“What do you mean, you want another kid?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “Amelia’s only one year old, and you’ve been distant ever since she was born.”
Peter ran a hand through his hair, avoiding my eyes. “Well, Nora, I just… I hoped she would turn out blue-eyed and pale, like my sister and my mother. But she looks nothing like I imagined.”
I felt my jaw drop. “Are you serious right now?”
“I just thought maybe our second one would look more… you know, European?”
“No, actually, I don’t know what you mean,” I said, my voice sharp. “Care to explain?”
Peter shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I’m proud of my Norwegian heritage. I’m afraid my family won’t accept Amelia looking so… brown.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My own husband, talking about our daughter like she was some kind of disappointment. The anger bubbled up inside me, and before I knew it, we were in a full-blown argument.
“She’s our daughter, Peter! How can you even think like this?” I shouted.
“I can’t help how I feel!” he yelled back. “I just wanted a kid that looked like me!”
We went back and forth for what felt like hours. By the time Peter stormed out, slamming the door behind him, I was exhausted and heartbroken. But as I sat there in the silence, an idea began to form.
I picked up my phone and dialed my mom’s number. “Hey, Mom. Can you watch Amelia for a few days? I need to teach Peter a lesson.”
My mom, bless her, didn’t ask too many questions. She just said, “Of course, honey. Bring her over whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I sighed. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise.”
The next morning, after Peter left for work, I packed up Amelia’s things. As I zipped up her little suitcase, I couldn’t help but think about Peter’s words. How could he not see how perfect she was?
I drove to my mom’s house, my heart heavy. When I arrived, Mom took one look at my face and pulled me into a hug.
“Oh, honey,” she said softly. “What happened?”
I broke down then, telling her everything through my tears. She listened in shock and anger.
“That man,” she muttered when I finished. “I ought to give him a piece of my mind.”
“No, Mom,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I have a plan. Just… take care of Amelia for me, okay?”
She nodded, pulling Amelia close. “You know I will. You do what you need to do.”
Leaving Amelia was harder than I expected. I kissed her chubby cheeks, inhaling her sweet baby scent. “Mommy loves you so much,” I whispered. “Never forget that.”
When I got home, I spent the day steeling myself for what was to come. As I heard Peter’s key in the lock that evening, my heart started racing.
He walked in, frowning at the unusual quiet. “Nora? Where’s Amelia?”
I took a deep breath. “I gave her up for adoption.”
Peter’s face went white. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Well, you said you wanted a more Nordic-looking child,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “So I thought we could try again. Maybe this time we’ll get the blue-eyed, pale-skinned baby you want.”