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

“Imagine little ones running around here,” Vivianne had said. It was a nice thought, but then the practical side of my brain kicked in, the part that always worried about things I couldn't control.

“Yeah,” I'd replied, “but… there's so much we don't know. And what about my medical history? Who knows what runs in my DNA?”

Vivianne nodded, understanding immediately. She knew my story. I was adopted after being thrown away like garbage. I mean, I was literally found in an alley as a baby.

But before you can feel sorry for me, know that my adoptive parents were amazing. They were also open about everything. I have known about my origins since I can remember.

Unfortunately, they knew nothing about my biological family. No one did. Not even the police could locate them. There just wasn't CCTV everywhere three decades ago.

And while I wasn't actually missing anything, I hated the uncertainty around my medical history. It wasn't something I usually dwelled on, but lately, with the baby conversation becoming more real, it bugged me.

What if something was lurking in my genes that could affect my future kids?

Driven by this nagging worry, I did what any self-respecting person in the 21st century would do: I ordered a 23&Me kit. It arrived a few weeks after that small conversation with Vivienne.

My wife raised her eyebrows when I came into our room with the box. “Detective Matthew at work?” she'd teased.

I grinned, feeling a nervous excitement bubbling up. “Yeah, like a health detective,” I corrected.

“Well, if the results mean that we can start trying, I'm all for it,” she said and left me to do my thing.

I ripped open the box and read the instructions. Spitting into that little tube felt weirdly significant like I was sending a tiny piece of myself out into the universe to find some missing pieces of my past. I also had to register on the website and some other stuff.

But a while later, I mailed off my sample, and then we just waited.

When the results finally came through, I logged onto the website. That's when I realized I'd messed up. I should've paid more attention while clicking through the forms and settings. Because somehow, I had made myself available to anyone who matched my DNA.

That wasn't the point of things. I assumed I had relatives all over, but I didn't care. I already had my family. But anyway, at first, I shrugged it off and focused on the possible diseases the results provided and what I could pass off to my future kids.

But a few days later, when Vivianne had run off for a grocery store run, a message popped up in my 23&Me inbox with a subject line that read: “We think we might be related.”

I almost deleted it, but then I saw the sender's name: Angela. And another one right after, from someone named Chris.

Curiosity piqued, I opened Angela's message first.

“Hi Matthew,” it read. “Hello. I just saw that we matched on 23&Me. I'm your bio-sister. I want you to know that the whole family has been looking for you for yours. Can you please write back?”

My stomach did a weird flip. I didn't want this, but I clicked on Chris's note, and it was basically the same. He mentioned my birth parents, who had five children—Angela, Chris, Eleanor, Daniel, and Michael—before me.

Apparently, the whole crew had been trying to track me down.

After reading everything, I stayed seated at my desk, staring unseeing at my screen for at least ten minutes. This was… unexpected. These were the people who had given me up. Why now, after 31 years?

My gaze shifted to the family portrait next to my computer. It was a photo of Vivianne, me, my parents, and her parents at our engagement party. That was my family. I wasn't interested in my birth family at all.

So, I typed out two quick, blunt replies.

To Angela, I wrote, “Thanks for reaching out, but I'm not interested.”

To Chris: “Thank you for the information. But please don't contact me again.”

I thought that would be the end of it, but I was wrong.

More messages arrived just minutes later, but the tone had shifted. Angela's new note was dramatic.

“Matthew, our parents have regretted their decision every single day. They were young and scared, already with five mouths to feed. They always wanted to find you, but they were afraid of what would happen. Please, just give them a chance to explain.”

Chris' new note had a similar message, with lines about “family is family” and “forgiveness.” And I could understand that they saw their parents regretting abandoning their child.

But should this really be my concern? Why should I care? Yet, as more messages came, I felt a knot tighten in my chest. I felt almost guilty that I didn't care.

Instead of responding, I called Vivianne.

“Hey, honey, I'm finishing up,” she said after picking up. “I'll be there soon.”

“No, babe. You're not going to believe this,” I started, and told her about the results, and the emails I'd just received.

“Are you going to keep responding?”

“I don't want to,” I replied.

“Then don't. Honey, you don't owe them anything. You were abandoned, and you have a family,” Vivianne continued and I could the sound of our car's engine roaring to life. “I'll be home in five.”

“Okay, babe,” I continued. “I just called because I don't understand why they're trying to guilt-trip me. But I'm going to block them. Drive safe.”

“Love you!” she said, and that was all I needed. When I hung up, I turned off all the notifications on the website and stood from my desk.

To my surprise, Angela and Chris somehow found my personal email. I guess, you have to worry about leaving digital footprints. Nothing is a secret now.

And their emails were relentless. My phone buzzed constantly. Angela, Chris, and now even another sibling, Eleanor, joined the spamming.

They even found my phone number and social media accounts. I was getting bombarded from all corners of the internet.

“You owe us a chance to explain.”

“You're being selfish, Matthew. Heartless.”

“Our parents deserve to know you. You're being cruel to our poor mother.”

That last one was the worst because whoever they were talking about wasn't my mother. Blocking them also proved useless because they opened new accounts and kept going.

I made my profiles private, sent their stuff to spam, and tried to move on. Finally, they gave me several days of respite, and I thought that was the end of it.

But eventually, I woke up to a text message from an unknown number.

“Matthew, it's Angela. Please don't ignore this. We need to talk. Our mother is sick. Please unblock my real number and call me. Please. I'm begging you.”

I was tired of this. But I showed Vivianne the message.

“Maybe, you should call her. Get her to stop. We can't live like this much longer,” she sighed, and I agreed.

Angela answered on the second ring. “Matthew!” she said, breathless. “Thank you for calling. Thank you!”

“My mind hasn't changed,” I said, dispersing with any pleasantries. “I don't want anything to do with your family. What can I do to get you to stop?”

“Did you read my message?” she asked. “Mom is sick. She needs a liver transplant immediately. None of us are a match. You're her only hope.”

“How would you know that?”

“Well, I don't know if you're a match, but you're our last hope,” Angela answered. “Please, help. She's your mother too.”

“Stop saying that,” I countered, gritting my teeth.

“Please,” she begged. “How about we meet somewhere? The whole family with Mom?”

I stared at my wife, with her big worried eyes, and considered my options. I had no idea if Angela was lying to see me face to face, or if they wanted something else. But I agreed to meet her if only to stop the harassment.

I arrived at the coffee shop ten minutes earlier than the agreed-upon time. It was a busy place, the air thick with the smell of roasted beans and the low hum of conversations.

I chose a table in the back corner, hoping for some semblance of privacy, and watched the door closely.

They showed up in force, all six of them. My biological mother walked in first, flanked by who I suspected were Angela and Chris. They looked like ringleaders, while the other three, Eleanor, Daniel, and Michael, trailed behind.

They spotted me and headed over, smiles stretched thinly across their faces.

“Matthew!” Angela exclaimed. “I'm Angela! It's so good to finally meet you!” She moved to hug me, but I subtly stepped back, putting a hand up.

She stilled smiled and introduced me to everyone properly.

“Please, sit down,” I said, nodding and gesturing to the chairs around the small table. My tone was clipped.

My biological mother sat directly across from me, her eyes watery and red-rimmed. She looked… fragile. Angela and Chris squeezed in on either side of her, while the other three siblings sort of hovered, unsure where to settle.

“Matthew,” Angela began, her voice trembling just so, “it means so much that you agreed to this.”

I cut her off before she could build her expectations. “Let's be clear,” I stated, my voice calm but firm, “this isn't a happy family gathering. I'm here because I want you all to leave me alone. And to understand a few things.”

A frown marred Angela's face, but she quickly recovered. “Of course, of course. We understand you must have so many questions.”

“I have one main question,” I said, turning to my biological mother. “Do you really need a liver transplant?”

Her lower lip trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Yes, son,” she whispered in a raspy and weak voice. “The doctors say… without it…” She trailed off.

“Okay,” I said, leaning forward, my gaze steady and unwavering. “Then I need to see the tests. The ones that prove none of your other children are a match. All five of them.”

The forced smiles vanished. A ripple of unease spread through the group. Angela's eyes darted around the table, Chris's jaw tightened, and Eleanor shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Daniel and Michael suddenly found the floor fascinating.

“Well, about that…” Angela started, her nails clicking on the table. “It's a bit complicated, you see.”

“Complicated how?” I pressed.

Chris jumped in, his voice louder, more aggressive. “Look, it's not really necessary for all of us to get tested, is it? If you're a match, then problem solved, right? Why make everyone go through all that hassle?”

“Hassle?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “A simple blood test is a ‘hassle' when your mother's life is supposedly on the line?”

Eleanor piped up. “Well, I, um… I don't really like hospitals,” she mumbled, avoiding my gaze. “And needles… I get really faint.”

Daniel cleared his throat. “Yeah, and I've got this… thing… at work,” he offered vaguely. “I haven't been able to and I don't think I can get the time off for surgery either.”

Michael just nodded in agreement.

I couldn't believe these answers. Their mother's life was on the line.

Angela, sensing my outrage, tried to regain control. “Matthew,” she said, “can't you see Mom is suffering? Can't you just help your poor mother?”

My mother?

I couldn't deal with this anymore, so I stood and paced for a second before turning to them and giving them a piece of my mind.

“I wanted nothing to do with you people before,” I said, my gaze sweeping across each of their faces. “And this little performance just confirms everything. My biological parents,” I emphasized those words, “discarded me. And now, her real children—her beloved children—are refusing to help her.”

“Hey! Bro, it's not like that—” Michael started.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” I interrupted him, putting a finger up. “I will not be the one to save her life. I want nothing to do with any of you. Ever. If I get a single more message, I will be getting a restraining order and a lawyer.”

And finally, I turned to my biological mother. I was human enough to feel pity for her, and that's why I said my next words. “Thank you for leaving in that alley. It gave me a chance to find a family that would give up their lives for me. I wish you all the best.”

Without waiting for a response or for whining from my siblings, I turned and walked out of the coffee shop. I didn't look back, didn't falter, didn't give them a single glance.

When I told Vivianne everything later that night, she listened while rubbing my hand in comfort.

“You did the right thing, Matthew,” she said. “You know, I know, that for the mother who raised you, you would have done anything. You would have gone under the knife in a heartbeat, no questions asked.”

I nodded. It was true. But the woman in the coffee wasn't my mother, and those were definitely not my siblings. Not really.

So, I removed the 23&Me profile. I deleted all my social media, and I even changed my phone number in case those people didn't heed my warning.