My Birth Family Contacted Me After 31 Years with an Outrageous Request — Am I Wrong for How I Reacted?

It all started when I decided to take a 23andMe test. It wasn’t that I was desperate for answers—more like a needling curiosity about what my genes could tell me. I was adopted as a baby and had no idea about my biological family. My adopted parents were amazing, but I often wondered about my medical history. What if something genetic lurked that I should know about before starting my own family with Vivianne?

So, I did it. I sent off my DNA sample, and waited.

When the results came in, I saw that my genetic matches included a “bio-sister” and “bio-brother.” A few clicks and their messages started flooding my inbox. They weren’t just reaching out; they were insistent. They claimed to have been searching for me for years.

The first message came from Angela, my so-called sister, pleading to meet, saying the family had always regretted giving me up. It was all too much. I didn’t want anything to do with them. After all, I had my family—Vivianne, my parents, people who loved me.

Still, they kept coming—more messages, more guilt-trips. I blocked them, but they found new ways to contact me. Eventually, the messages turned from pleas to accusations: “Heartless,” “Selfish,” and then, the kicker: “Mom’s sick, and you’re her only hope.”

I was irritated but didn’t want this to drag on any longer, so I agreed to meet them. The coffee shop felt too small for the crowd that walked in—six people, all claiming to be my family. I sat with them, still feeling like an intruder in a story that didn’t belong to me.

Then Angela dropped the bomb: their mother, my biological mother, was in need of a liver transplant. And I was supposedly the only match.

But when I asked to see the test results proving that no one else was a match, the smiles vanished. The siblings shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The one thing they all had in common was reluctance. No one seemed ready to actually step up.

I stood up, angry. “Your mother wasn’t my mother. You’re not my family. And I’m not your savior.” I turned to leave, but before I walked out the door, I turned back to the woman who had abandoned me all those years ago and said, “Thank you for leaving me in that alley. It gave me a chance to find real family.”

Vivianne didn’t need to ask what happened when I got home. She could see it in my eyes. “You did the right thing,” she said as she rubbed my hand, comforting me. “You would have done anything for the mother who raised you.”

And just like that, the chapter with my biological family was closed.