Becoming a mother was both the most beautiful and terrifying thing that ever happened to me. I was 21, still in college, and unprepared for the two pink lines on the test. My boyfriend, Aaron, initially promised support—until I said I was keeping the baby. He exploded, kicked me out, and vanished from our lives.
Years later, after raising our daughter Annette on my own, Aaron suddenly reappeared—wanting custody because he’d learned he couldn’t have more kids. I was shocked. He hadn’t even tried to be part of her life before.
He took me to court, used his influence to get temporary custody, and even got me fired. But when Annette had a life-threatening allergic reaction under his care, he panicked. I rushed to the hospital.
Seeing us together, he realized the truth: she was mine in every way that mattered. He dropped the custody case but asked to be part of her life.
I agreed—on my terms. For Annette’s sake, not his.
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