I was making dinner with my daughter, Lily, her laughter filling the kitchen, when the doorbell rang. Opening it, I saw my ex, Matt, after five years of silence, saying he wanted her. When I refused, he said coldly, “I’ll take her no matter what.” I didn’t know how far he’d go—or how fiercely I’d fight. At twenty-one, seeing those two lines on a pregnancy test was thrilling and scary. Matt and I were serious, but kids weren’t in our plans. Telling him was tough. In his apartment, I mumbled, “I’m pregnant,” hands shaking, eyes down.
He promised to support me, but when I said I’d keep the baby, he exploded, calling me selfish, saying I’d ruined everything. He threw my things out, leaving me crying at my mom’s. The next day, he apologized, swearing he’d love us. I hoped, but felt his resentment. When Lily was born, my love for her was overwhelming. Matt tried to be a dad, but it didn’t last. When Lily was nearly one, her fever kept her crying. I tried soothing her, but Matt came home, snapping, “Make her stop!” I said she was sick, but he yelled, “I never wanted this!”
“Are we a burden?” I asked, voice breaking. “Yes!” he shouted, storming off. That night, I packed our things and drove away with Lily. Matt never contacted us. For five years, Lily and I built a joyful life. She was my everything, though her questions about her dad were hard. Then Matt appeared. “I want Lily,” he said. “You left us!” I snapped. He said he couldn’t have more kids and was “ready” now. “You don’t pick when to be a dad,” I said. He smirked, “I’ll get custody, Kate. I have money and connections.” I shut the door, hiding my fear from Lily.
The next day, I was fired—no reason, but Matt’s influence was clear. His lawyer called about a custody hearing. In court, they made me the villain for taking Lily. With no job or lawyer, I lost temporary custody for a week. Watching Lily leave with Matt, her eyes confused, shattered me. I cried, then fought, finding a new job and preparing for the next hearing. Matt’s mom blocked my visits, saying Lily was asleep. Then Matt called, frantic. “Lily’s swelling!” he said. “Peanuts?” I asked, knowing her allergy. He admitted yes. I told him to get to the hospital and rushed there.
Lily was okay after treatment. “Mom!” she cried, hugging me. In the hallway, I confronted Matt. He apologized, dropping his custody claim. “She’s yours,” he said. “But I want to see her.” For Lily, I agreed, but warned, “I’ll be at every visit. Don’t hurt her again.” He nodded. Tucking Lily in, I felt stronger than ever. I’d fought for her, and no one would take her away.
