My ex abandoned me Pregnant at 17... now he's stalking the daughter I gave away

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My ex abandoned me Pregnant at 17... now he's stalking the daughter I gave away

When Marcus found out I was pregnant at 17, he didn't just leave.

He convinced me to get an abortion.

"Think about your future, Jess," he said, holding my hands like he cared. "We're too young. I'll pay for everything."

But when I told him I couldn't go through with it, his mask slipped.

"Then you're on your own," he spat. "Don't expect me to ruin my life for your mistake."

Two days later, he was dating my best friend.

I was devastated. My parents were furious but stood by me. The whispers at school were brutal—teenage pregnancy in a small town is front-page gossip.

But I had a plan.

I researched adoption agencies for months. Found the perfect couple—Sarah and Mike, married eight years, couldn't have kids. They were teachers, kind, desperate to be parents.

When I met them, Sarah cried. Mike promised they'd love my baby like their own.

I moved in with them during my last trimester. They took me to every appointment, painted the nursery together, let me pick the name.

When Emma was born, I held her for two hours. Memorized her face. Then placed her in Sarah's arms.

"Take care of my girl," I whispered.

They promised to send updates. Photos every month, letters on birthdays. They kept their word.

I finished high school, got a scholarship, became a social worker specializing in adoption services. Met David in college—a guy who didn't flinch when I told him about Emma.

We married at 25. Had two boys. Emma's photos sat proudly on our mantle—our family's origin story.

Last month, Emma turned 16. Sarah sent her usual update: honor roll student, varsity soccer, wants to be a veterinarian. The photo showed a beautiful girl with my eyes and Marcus's stubborn chin.

Then my phone rang.

"Jess? It's Marcus."

I hadn't heard his voice in sixteen years.

"I know about Emma," he said. "I know what you did."

My blood went cold. "What do you want?"

"I want to meet my daughter. I have rights."

I laughed—actually laughed.

"Rights? You signed away your rights when you called her a mistake."

"I was seventeen!" he shouted. "I was scared! I've changed. I'm successful now. I could give her things."

"She already has everything," I said. "Parents who wanted her. A family who chose her."

"You stole my daughter from me!"

"I saved her from you."

Marcus had found Emma through social media. Seen her last name, done the math. He'd been divorced twice, no kids, and suddenly wanted to play daddy.

"I'm hiring a lawyer," he threatened.

"Good luck with that," I said. "You have no legal standing. You abandoned us both."

"But I'm her real father!"

"No," I said quietly. "Mike is her real father. He's the one who taught her to ride a bike. Who coached her soccer team. Who'll walk her down the aisle."

"You? You're just the sperm donor who ran away."

The line went silent.

"I made a mistake," he whispered.

"Yes," I agreed. "And Emma was never that mistake. Your choice to abandon her was."

I hung up.

Later, I called Sarah. Told her everything. She wasn't surprised—Emma had mentioned a strange man messaging her on Instagram.

"We blocked him," Sarah said. "Emma asked who he was. We told her the truth—someone who gave up the right to know her a long time ago."

"What did she say?"

Sarah laughed. "She said, 'Good. I already have the best dad in the world.'"

Marcus kept calling. Texting. Threatening lawyers.

But you know what?

Sixteen years too late doesn't buy you a seat at the table you walked away from.

Emma has a father. One who earned the title every single day.

And Marcus?

He's exactly where he chose to be sixteen years ago.

Nowhere.