My Mother Kicked Me Out Pregnant At 18. Now The Father Is A Swiss Billionaire And She Wants A “Family Reunion.” Should I Let Her In?

He said he wanted everything official and protected. He said Janna and I deserve that security after managing alone for so long.

Two days later, we met with Leah Mercer in her downtown office. It was the kind of place with thick carpet and framed law degrees covering the walls.

She was younger than I expected, maybe mid-30s. She wore a practical suit and a no-nonsense expression.

Leah explained that Alessandro had hired her specifically to represent my interests, not his. She worked for me alone, even though he was paying her fees.

She walked us through the process for a court-admissible DNA test. It was the kind that would hold up legally if we ever needed it to.

It felt strange having a lawyer who answered only to me. However, it also felt safer than I’d expected.

Leah asked detailed questions about what I wanted protected and what worried me most. She took notes on a yellow legal pad.

She pulled out a folder of documents and walked us through financial boundaries before any test results came back. Alessandro agreed immediately to put the back child support into an escrow account.

It would only release after paternity was confirmed through official channels. The house he bought went into my name with legal protections written in.

He couldn’t take it back regardless of what happened between us. I felt overwhelmed looking at all the paperwork, page after page of terms and clauses.

Leah explained each section in plain language. She pointed out every safeguard she’d built in and every protection that kept Janna and me secure.

I signed where she indicated. My hand was cramping by the end, but I was grateful for every word that stood between us and uncertainty.

My phone buzzed as we finished. It was a text from Denise warning me that mom was calling every relative we had.

She was telling them I’d kept Janna a secret out of spite. She said I was being cruel by not letting her be a grandmother now.

The old fear of being isolated from family hit hard. That feeling of being cut off and alone had defined the last five years.

I reminded myself that most of those relatives had believed I was a Vegas stripper anyway. They’d never reached out when I actually needed help.

Establishing the Truth of the Bloodline

That evening I sat with Janna on her bed. Her stuffed rabbit was tucked under one arm while she looked up at me with curious eyes.

I explained in simple terms that a friend from Europe wanted to meet her. I told her he was someone I’d known a long time ago, before she was born.

She asked if he was nice. I told her we were going to find out together slowly and that we’d take our time.

I didn’t use the word father yet because nothing was officially confirmed. I wouldn’t make promises I couldn’t keep.

Janna nodded seriously. Then she asked if the friend liked the same cartoons she did.

I said I didn’t know but we could find out. I told her she could ask him questions and decide for herself how she felt.

At the end of the first week, we met at a public park on a sunny Saturday morning. It was the kind with newer equipment and wood chips instead of concrete.

Alessandro brought a simple soccer ball, nothing fancy or expensive. He asked Janna about her favorite color and whether she liked playgrounds.

She was shy at first, standing half behind my leg. She was curious enough to answer that she liked purple and that, yes, she liked swings.

I stayed close while they kicked the ball back and forth on the grass. Alessandro kept his movements gentle and his voice calm.

Janna stopped the ball with her foot and asked why he talked funny. She tilted her head like she was trying to figure out a puzzle.

Alessandro laughed, a real warm sound. He explained he was from Switzerland where people speak differently than we do here.

She wanted to know if they have McDonald’s there.

“Yes,”

he said,

“But the menu is in French and German instead of English.”

I watched him keep everything age-appropriate and honest. He didn’t make big promises about trips or presents, just answered her questions like she was a real person whose thoughts mattered.

They kicked the ball some more while I sat on a bench nearby. I was close enough to intervene but far enough to let them interact.

Janna’s guard dropped a little as they played. Her movements were getting less stiff, though she still glanced back at me every few minutes to make sure I was there.

On day eight, my mother left a voicemail that I listened to twice before deleting. She said she forgave me for keeping Janna from her all these years.

She said she wanted to move forward as a family for Janna’s sake. She said she was ready whenever I was.

I felt angry listening to it, then just tired. It was that bone-deep exhaustion that comes from dealing with someone who refuses to understand.

I didn’t call back because I needed time to think. I was done rushing into things that hurt me.

The phone sat silent on my kitchen counter while I made Janna’s lunch. I spread peanut butter the way she liked it and realized that not responding felt better than trying to explain myself one more time.

The next morning, I dropped Janna at kindergarten and drove straight to work for the early shift. My lunch break came at noon.

I walked three blocks to the public library. It was the same one where I’d studied for my GED while Janna was a baby.

I found an empty computer terminal in the back corner. I pulled up legal information websites about grandparents’ rights in our state.

The laws were narrow, requiring proof of an existing relationship or evidence that denying contact would harm the child. My mother had neither.

However, the websites warned that determined grandparents could still file petitions and drag families through court battles. These could cost thousands in legal fees.

I opened a notebook and wrote down specific statutes, case names, and filing requirements. The act of gathering information made the fear feel smaller and more manageable.

I felt like it was something I could prepare for instead of just dread. I took photos of the relevant pages with my phone and emailed them to Leah.

I included a short message asking if we should be worried. Back at the restaurant, I tied on my apron and started taking orders for the dinner rush.

My mind was still half-focused on legal terminology. The next afternoon, my phone buzzed during my break and Leah’s name appeared on the screen.

She wanted to schedule a consultation specifically about protecting Janna and me from legal harassment. She explained that we needed to create a paper trail and establish clear boundaries.

She wanted to do this before my mother could gain any legal foothold. The appointment was set for the following Tuesday at 10:00 in the morning.

I arranged to swap shifts with another server to make it work. That Friday night, two regular customers sat in my section.

They were whispering just loud enough for me to hear about the Mercedes with Swiss plates parked outside. They wondered if I was dating some kind of prince.