My brief romance with Dan ended calmly over tea when he said he needed to explore things with his ex, Emma. I accepted it, but weeks later, I learned I was pregnant with twins. Dan was overjoyed, saying the babies deserved the world. Emma, unable to have children, promised to “help” co-parent. I agreed, hoping for harmony. But Emma’s help turned controlling. She and Dan visited my place, where she insisted on a home birth, formula only, and that the twins call her “Mama” while I’d be “Mommy.” Dan, nibbling my craving-baked muffins, stayed quiet, letting her dictate.
Her demands shocked me. Feeling suffocated, I opened my door, silently urging them to go. Emma’s texts flooded in—exercise advice, name lists, nursery ideas, and whines about her job’s maternity policies. I ignored her. She scheduled a genetics meeting without me, trying to steer it with her history. At my 20-week scan, Dan suggested Emma attend instead of him. I refused, saying, “I’m not building a kit with you two.” After their engagement, Emma posted online, claiming my twins as hers, throwing a baby shower excluding me. At 24 weeks, Emma and her mom, Karen, arrived uninvited, asking for one twin. “It’s only fair,” Emma said.
I stayed cool, joking she could surrogate for my future cat. Furious, they left after I threatened legal action. I warned Dan I’d seek full custody if Emma returned. A lawyer advised moving states, so I found a rental far away, craving peace. Emma tracked me to my toddler daycare job, smashing my car and windows, yelling I ruined her dreams. Police arrested her for vandalism and endangering kids. I secured restraining orders against her and Dan, then moved across the country with my mom. Their messages stopped after new charges. Now, in my calm home, baking scones and feeling my twins move, I’m empowered. I’ll give them my last name, cherishing my strength to protect them from Emma’s obsession, ready for our new life.