Pregnant... but whose baby was it?
Francesca
Thursday 11th October 2007
Pulling the bed sheet around me, I gazed at the man lying beside me. It should have been my boyfriend of three years Sean, 35. But the man I'd just had amazing sex with was a Mexican fisherman called Cecilio. Lying in his arms, I glanced out of the window. There, in the distance I could see Sean in the restaurant where he worked. Guilt hit me like a sledgehammer.
'I shouldn't be here,' I said, scrabbling for my bra.
'You always say that,' Cecilio laughed. 'But you always come back.'
I'm ashamed to say, he was right. But I hadn't always been so heartless. It was May 2002 and just nine months earlier Sean and I had jacked in our accountant's jobs and come on an extended holiday to the fishing village of Zipolite in Mexico.
We'd been arguing a lot and I'd hoped the palm trees and white beaches might put the spark back in our relationship. To start with it worked. Mexico was a world away from our life in Dublin. We'd rented a wooden shack with a thatched roof and found work at El Jardin beach restaurant.
But two weeks on we were bickering again.
'I can't take this anymore,' I sighed as Sean sat sulking on the bed one night.
So I went to El Jardin for a drink. That's when I got chatting to a local fisherman, Cecilio Lopez-Aldarado.
Skinny, with shoulder length dark hair, Cecilio, 52, was almost 20 years older than me.
But his chocolate brown eyes lit up whenever we spoke and his sexy voice made my spine tingle.
'He fancies you,' Sean accused when Cecilio came in the bar each night.
'Rubbish,' I scoffed.
But secretly I hoped he did.
Despite the age difference, Cecilio made my heart race.
'There's nothing wrong with a bit of harmless flirting,' I told myself.
Only it didn't stay harmless for long.
'Would you like to join me on a fishing trip?' he asked two weeks later, when I bumped into him on the beach.
'Nothing will happen,' I told myself. But sneaking off to meet him while Sean worked, my stomach was in knots.
We spent the day on a deserted beach, cooking our catch on an open fire.
'You look beautiful,' Cecilio whispered. Before I knew it, we were making love on the sand.
Yes, it was wrong. But sex between Sean and I had become like a wet weekend in Dublin.
As for Cecilio, he'd hauled me in like a prize catch.
After, I felt terrible and vowed 'never again'. But the next day I sneaked out to see Cecilio again. Three weeks on I'd seen him every day. Maybe it was the sun but I was like a woman possessed.
Sean obviously noticed something was up.
'Are you having an affair with that fisherman?' he ranted one night.
'No,' I fumed. 'How dare you?'
I felt terrible for lying but we were due home in three weeks and I knew I'd never see Cecilio again.
Three weeks on, as Sean packed, I said goodbye to Cecilio. Closing his hut door behind me, I hated myself for what I'd done. But now it was over.
Only a few weeks after we got back, in June 2002, I woke up feeling sick. I panicked. I couldn't remember my last period. I rushed out, bought a pregnancy test. And a few hours later it came up positive.
'Well that's a shock,' Sean said.
That was an understatement.
For the last few months we'd barely even kissed, while I'd had sex with Cecilio daily. We'd used condoms but I knew it was probably his baby. So that night, as we lay in bed I took a deep breath.
'The baby might be Cecilio's,' I whispered.
Sean's face crumpled.
'Why did you lie to me?' he shouted.
We went round and round for hours and eventually I reached a decision.
'I'm keeping this baby.'
'Well I can't abandon you if it might be mine,' Sean sobbed.
So when I went into labour on 10th January 2003, Sean was at my side. He looked so proud as he my son. But as soon as I saw the 6lb 2oz bundle, I knew. With his dark hair and almond shaped eyes there was no way that he was Sean's. He had blond hair and blue eyes.
But Sean was adamant.
'He's my son,' he said.
In denial? Maybe. But I couldn't break his heart again. So we named our son Julian and got on with things.
But as the months passed Julian began to look more like Cecilio. By the time he was 8 months old, I couldn't live the lie any longer.
'It's obvious Julian's not yours,' I whispered.
Sean nodded, a broken man. A week later he moved out.
Life as a single mum wasn't easy but as Julian took his first steps, I couldn't have been prouder. Sean kept in touch but in February 2004, I made a decision.
'I want you to take a DNA test,' I asked Sean.
'OK,' he agreed. 'For Julian.'
When the tests came back three weeks later it was there in black and white. Cecilio was Julian's dad. I wrote to Sean first.
'Cecilio is Julian's father but he loves you very much. I'm sorry for betraying you.'
Next I wrote to Cecilio.
'He's a wonderful little boy and looks just like you.'
Predictably, I never heard back from Cecilio. Sean was gutted and his visits soon stopped.
Julian's 4 now and I know one day I'll have to explain the truth.
But when that time comes, I'll make sure he knows one thing. That I don't regret him for a second. It may have been a summer of madness. But he's the best mistake I've ever made.
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