After a year away, Mike Larson couldn’t wait to see his wife, Anna. But when he got home, a baby in a basket on his kitchen table, along with two notes, ended his marriage and started a new chapter as a devoted dad, fighting to keep the child he loved.
Mike had spent a year on an oil rig, dreaming of Anna, his high school sweetheart. Married young, he’d stayed faithful, trusting Anna felt the same. At the airport, she wasn’t there to greet him. Thinking she was busy, he texted her and took a taxi home, excited to surprise her. The house was quiet, lights on but no Anna. In the kitchen, Mike froze. A bassinet sat on the table, a newborn inside, with two notes nearby.
One, in unfamiliar writing, read, “You had fun, now take your child.” The other, in Anna’s handwriting, broke his heart: “Mike, this baby was left on our doorstep yesterday with that note. I suspected you cheated on your trips, and I had my own flings. But leaving me with your kid is too much. I’ve filed for divorce and don’t want to see you again. P.S. I left when I saw you arrive.” Mike slumped, stunned. He’d never cheated—how could Anna believe this? Her affairs cut deep, but the baby wasn’t his.
The baby cooed, grabbing Mike’s finger. “Guess it’s you and me,” he said, softening. A smell signaled diaper time. He found a bag with supplies and, using an online tutorial, changed her, chuckling as she kicked. “A girl, huh? I’ll teach you to play catch,” he said, deciding to keep her. He named her Ava and embraced fatherhood, learning to feed her and cherishing their bond. He registered Ava as his daughter, marking her “birthday” as the day he found her, and enrolled her in daycare.
Mike and Ava built a happy life, but on her second birthday, a woman knocked. “I’m here for my baby,” she said, her bold appearance jarring. “I left her here two years ago, meant for my boyfriend’s place nearby. I was out of it.” Mike snapped, “Why now?” She smirked. “Her dad’s a sports star, rich. She’s my ticket.” Mike told her to leave or face the police, but she wasn’t done. A week later, he faced her in court—her name was Misty Dawn, and she wanted Ava for profit.
Social workers visited Mike’s home, and his friends were questioned. In court, Misty cried, saying she’d left Ava with Mike in a reckless moment she regretted. The judge asked, “On a porch?” Misty shouted, “I’m her mom!” Her boyfriend, with Ava’s eyes, mumbled he might be the father. When Misty bragged about his million-dollar contract, the judge asked, “What’s your daughter’s name?” Misty faltered. “Her dad’s, for support.”
Mike stood. “Her name’s Ava, Your Honor. She’s my daughter, and I’ve loved her since day one.” Ava, with a social worker, saw Mike and squealed, “Daddy!” reaching out. The judge smiled. “The child knows her father. I confirm Mike Larson’s custody of Ava.” That night, Mike and Ava chased fireflies, her laughter his greatest treasure. How would you handle a surprise like this? Share your thoughts.
