“His name is Tyler. He’s in my class. He… doesn’t come from a wealthy family. His family is struggling, but he said he’d do everything in his power to be there.”
A moment of silence.
“Are you going to keep the baby?” he asked.
“No.”
Father talking to his daughter in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. “Think carefully about what you’re saying.”
“Yes, I’ll keep it,” I replied. “And I won’t change my mind.”
He stared at me, jaw clenched, as if he could convince me to question anything. When that didn’t work, his expression changed, not to anger, but to something worse. Contempt.
“You’re seventeen,” he said quietly. “And you’re wasting your life on some poor boy who can barely take care of himself?”
“I’m not wasting anything,” I said calmly but firmly. “I can do it. I’ll do it.”
Father talking to his daughter | Source: Midjourney
He pushed back his chair and stood up. He walked to the front door and opened it.
“You want to raise an illegitimate child with a poor boy?” he muttered, staring at the street beyond the porch. “Then do it yourself.”
That’s it. No shouting. No questions. Just one sentence that ended it all.
I was seventeen years old. And suddenly I found myself homeless.
Teenage Girl in Despair | Source: Midjourney
My father – a well-known businessman, owner of a thriving chain of car repair shops – never paid any attention to me.
Not a single phone call. Not a cent. I don’t think he ever looked for me.
I made his bed. And he just let me lie in it, no matter how cold or worn it was.
My child’s father didn’t last long either. Two weeks after I moved out, he stopped calling me back. He made promises, said he’d support me, that he’d do whatever needed to be done. But promises wouldn’t cover the cost of diapers. Or rent. Or hospital bills.
Pregnant woman in hospital | Source: Pexels
