I Found Photos of Me with a Newborn, but I Don’t Remember Ever Being Pregnant

As I was cleaning the attic, I unearthed a box of old pictures and discovered images of me cradling a small infant with love in my eyes. However, I had never conceived, much less given birth. I chose to look into it, not realizing that I would have to confront a reality that would completely destroy me.

I took an old box from the shelf a few weeks ago as I was cleaning the attic. Although I don’t remember labeling it, I wrote the label “Photos – Keep” on it. I opened the box carefully, seeing dust particles dance in the strong light.

Memories poured out in glossy 4×6 prints inside: our wedding day with Daniel spinning me around the dance floor, my college graduation with Mom and Dad beaming next to me, and innumerable summer cookouts at the lake house.

Then everything came to a halt.

I was holding a newborn infant in a hospital bed. I had black circles under my eyes and my hair stuck to my forehead from perspiration, yet my face… My breath left me as I stared at that little bundle with such unadulterated, unadulterated adoration.

Additional pictures showed me clutching the infant to my chest, stroking its minuscule fingers, and sobbing as I gazed into its face. In another, I had my finger stuck in the baby’s small fist when I was nursing it.

However, that was not feasible. I had never given birth. never conceived. NEVER. Then how could this have happened?

Surrounded by the strewn-about pictures, I collapsed onto the attic floor. I looked at each one carefully, my hands shaking, looking for evidence of editing or alteration.

The paper was old and the corners were a little worn, but they were real.

One photo showed a peculiar mustard-yellow chair in the hospital room’s corner, and I recognized the strange geometric design of the curtains.

We had visited my aunt at St. Mary’s Hospital following her hip surgery the previous year.

I attempted to make sense of what I was seeing while Daniel was at work, and I was thankful for the isolation. These pictures captured what ought to have been the most important period of my life.

However, I had no recollection. Not even a second.

When Daniel departed for work the next morning, my hands began to shake as I collected the pictures and reached for my car keys.

I wanted to learn more about this enigmatic infant on my own, so I didn’t ask him any questions.

At 11 a.m. on that sunny Tuesday, the hospital parking lot was almost deserted. For five minutes, I sat in my car, holding the pictures close to my chest while I tried to find the strength to get inside.

My chest constricted with an emotion I couldn’t identify as a young mother pushed a stroller by.

The smell of floor cleanser and antiseptic filled the reception area. As I got closer, a young woman wearing bright blue scrubs and a name tag shaped like a butterfly looked up.

“Hi,” I said. “I need to access some old records of mine.”

I then added, “Look at this,” and showed her the images. “Who is this baby? I’m holding it, but why? Nothing comes to mind. What’s going on?”

She wrote something on her phone and then scowled at her screen without responding. She hesitated over the keyboard.

She said quickly to someone, “One moment, please!” before vanishing into a back office.

When an older nurse appeared, she had her hair put back in a tidy bun and her name tag said “Nancy, Head Nurse.” My stomach turned when I saw the mixture of recognition and worry in her eyes.

“Miss, we do have records for you here, but we’ll need to contact your husband before we can discuss them.”

I felt sick to my stomach. “What? “Why?”

“In situations such as this, hospital policy. Let me call him now, please.

“No, they are my health care documents. I’m entitled to know—”

Nancy, however, was already answering the phone while keeping her gaze fixed on me. Through the receiver, I heard the ring as she dialed.

“Mister? Nancy from St. Mary’s Hospital is here. Yes, Angela, your wife, is here to ask to see some medical documents. Yes, I do see. Would you be able to descend immediately? That’s what it’s about, yes. Thank you.

I balled my hands into fists. “Do you know my husband? Do you have his phone number?

“He will arrive in twenty minutes. While you wait, would you like some water?

“No. I’m looking for answers.

I gripped the pictures to my chest as I slid onto a plastic chair.

It seemed like forever as the waiting room clock ticked off the minutes. Daniel was still wearing his work clothes and had a pale complexion when he eventually showed up. It was obvious that he had driven here at top speed.

“Angela??”

“Dan, what’s happening? They have your number, but why? Why won’t they speak to me if you’re not there?”

He looked at Nancy. “Is Dr. Peters available?”

The doctor’s office was tiny, with a single window looking out over the parking lot and certificates covering one wall. Dr. Peters was a middle-aged woman with concerned lines around her mouth and gentle eyes. We sat down, and she folded her hands on the desk.

“Tell her,” urged Dr. Peters. “Your wife deserves to know everything.”

My ribs were pounded by my heart. “You know what? What’s happening?

Daniel put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “My sister Fiona approached us six years ago with a request. Remember the length of time she and Jack had been attempting to conceive?

“Your sister? How is she connected to this?

“The fertility procedures were failing. He swallowed hard. “IVF failed three times.” “She inquired whether you would be interested in serving as her surrogate. And you replied, “Yes.”

The world slanted to one side. “No. It’s not… I would keep that in mind. A pregnancy? Acting as a surrogate? I wouldn’t—”

“Angel, you were really committed to helping her. It was the best present you could give your sister-in-law, you said. The pregnancy proceeded without a hitch. You were beaming with joy as you assisted them. However, after the infant was born—”

Dr. Peters raised his voice. “After giving birth, Angela, you had a serious psychiatric breakdown. The bonding process and maternal hormones were more powerful than anyone had expected. You wouldn’t let go of the infant. You went into a frenzy when they attempted to take him to Fiona.

My hands were pressed on my temples. “Cease. Stop, please.

The kind explanation from Dr. Peters was, “Your mind protected itself,” “We refer to it as dissociative amnesia. To protect you from the anguish of the separation, your mind constructed a wall around the memories. When someone is under extreme emotional anguish, their mind can—”

“You mean I didn’t remember a whole pregnancy? An entire infant? No way! I’d be aware. My body would be aware. My heart would be aware.

“Angel,” Daniel said, grabbing my hand. But my chair scraped the floor as I yanked away so forcefully.

“Avoid touching me! You were aware? You knew all this time? Every time we passed a baby store and discussed the possibility of having children in the future, did you know that I was pregnant? Born? And thrown him away as if he were a ridiculous toy?”

“Where is he?” With my eyes red-rimmed from sobbing and my throat raw, I demanded.

Soon after, Fiona relocated to the nation. The experts believed that the distance would aid in your recuperation.

“So everyone just decided?” I chuckled. “Everyone just chose to let me forget my own—” I was unable to utter the word. unable to accept what I had lost. “Six years? “First words, first steps, six birthdays?”

“We thought we were protecting you.”

“By lying? By witnessing my ignorance? Have you all gathered and organized this? Meet to discuss ways to keep me informed.”

“By letting you heal,” said Dr. Peters quietly. “Angela, the mind can only bear so much suffering. Your mind made this decision for a reason.

I ran as quickly as my legs would let me to leave the hospital. Daniel overtook me and ushered me into the vehicle. I was a complete wreck. My delicate heart was irreparably broken.

I slept in our guest room that night, surrounded by the pictures.

I tried to make my thoughts remember each one till my eyes burned. How I caressed his small face. My cheeks were wet. the affection in my eyes.

I tried to visualize him there, growing, moving, and becoming a part of me as I pushed my hand to my tummy. However, nothing was found. Nothing.

“Can we see him?” The following day, I asked Daniel.

“We should probably ask Fiona first,” he remarked in a hesitant tone. “But if you’re sure, I think she’ll be okay with it.”

Convincing Fiona to let our visit took a week. I couldn’t bear to talk to her personally, so we had to negotiate through Daniel for seven days. Not quite yet.

How would you approach someone who is the parent of your child? Who abducted your child?

Fiona eventually agreed after numerous messages and phone calls.

It was an unending drive to the countryside. Through the window, I observed the changing scenery, each mile bringing me one step closer to a reality I wasn’t sure I could accept.

Fields were replaced by woodlands, which were followed by suburbs. My mind was racing with questions the entire time.

Would he resemble me? Would he recognize me in some way? Would I experience any emotions? Would he rush over to me?

During those restless nights, Fiona’s house was everything I could have ever dreamed. A red bicycle sitting against the porch, a tire swing, flowers in window boxes, and a perfect grass. The aroma of something cooking filled the air as wind chimes tinkled softly.

I could hardly walk to the door because my legs were shaking so much.

Fiona was standing there, exactly like I had seen her in the family photos. But like a protective mother’s, her eyes were wary, teary, and reserved.

Softly, “Angela,” she said. “Come in.”

I looked around the room, trying to find the child who had the secret to my buried history.

Peeking around the corner, he was there. Those familiar eyes and dark curls like mine. I was unable to breathe because my heart was so constricted.

My boy! My darling! I wanted to yell, to rush to him, to embrace him. But sadness had left me numb and immobile.

Fiona shouted out, “Come meet your Aunt Angela, Tommy.”

With a toy dinosaur in one hand, he approached timidly. “Hello, Aunt Angela.”

“Hello, Tommy!” His name sounded to me like a prayer as I spoke it.

He tilted his head slightly and regarded me with those large brown eyes. Do you want to view my room? My bed is a bunk! And a T-Rex that lets out a scream when its belly is pushed.”

“I’d love that, sweetie.”

I sensed it as he led me upstairs, talking about his closest friend Jake, his dinosaur collection, and how he was now able to ride his bike without training wheels.

It’s more of an echo than a memory. A specter of our potential selves. Of all the times I ought should have.

I pulled out the pictures one last time in our hotel room later that evening. No longer was the lady in them a stranger. Even though I couldn’t recall experiencing her happiness, suffering, or sacrifice, I could relate to them.

I traced the baby’s tiny photostatic features with my finger as I touched the image.

“You okay?” Daniel inquired from the entrance.

“No. However, I believe I will be.

I put the pictures back in the envelope. Years of protective fog may cause some memories to remain hidden and forgotten. But now I had truth, which was more valuable than recollections. And for some reason, I discovered the serenity I had been lacking in that fact.

Although it would take some time to accept my truth completely, this was a positive start.