My Parents Put Me Up For Adoption Because I Was A Boy. My Mom Said: “i Wish You’d Died As A Baby” 19

“Then mom can send it.”

She hung up. I made one decision.

I started tracking every call, every text, every demand. Timestamps and exact wording.

Dev had taught me early that records matter when people start rewriting history. One folder, one timeline.

That’s it. That weekend, Nor showed up at my main shop.

She didn’t buy anything, just browsed. She was taking selfies and posting them with captions like family business vibes and supporting my brother’s hustle.

She tagged the location. She made it look like she was involved.

Mike texted me screenshots. She was building a narrative.

Fake involvement, fake support. Setting up for when she’d inevitably claim I owed her.,

My staff asked if she got a discount. I told them to charge full price.

She made a scene at checkout loud enough for customers to hear.

“You’re charging your own sister? That’s messed up.”

I was in the back but heard everything. I came out and kept my voice level.

“Everyone pays the same, including family.”

Her face went red. She paid, left her items on the counter, and walked out.

I addressed my staff immediately. If anyone claiming to be family tries that again, it’s the same policy: no exceptions.

The message was clear. They could try to leverage the relationship, but it held no weight here.

The Procedure and the Choice to Move Forward

Three days later, the real escalation started. I was at the main shop midday Wednesday with moderate traffic.

I was fixing a phone when my tech lead came back looking uncomfortable.

“There’s a woman at the counter. Says she’s your mother. She’s making a scene.”

I walked out front. Salma was standing at the counter with customers behind her.

She was loud and performing grief. She had her hand to her chest and her voice was trembling on purpose.,

“My own son won’t help his family. After we gave him life! After we found him good parents!”

Customers stared. My staff froze.

Classic manipulation and public pressure. She wanted to force a response where she could play the martyr and I could play the villain.

I kept my voice level.

“We’re not doing this here. Leave, or I’ll have you escorted out.”

“You’d call security on your own mother?”

“I hired them for exactly this situation.”

Her face tightened. She leaned in whispering venom.

“You owe us. We could have made a different choice. We didn’t.”

A threat. A reference to the procedure she’d later admit to scheduling.

Even then, she weaponized my existence. I gestured to my tech lead.

He called security. She left before they arrived, but not before tossing one last line over her shoulder.

“This isn’t over!”

In the back room, my jaw locked so tight it hurt. I couldn’t unclench for 10 minutes.

That evening Dev called. His voice was tight.

Ferris showed up at the kiosk during rush. He tried to pull Dev aside for a man-to-man talk.,

He said they stole his son. He said that they poisoned me against my family.

Customers heard everything. Rage hit instantly.

Coming after me was one thing, but dragging Reena and Dev into it crossed a line.

“What happened?”

“I told him to leave. He wouldn’t. Reena stepped in. Set boundaries loud enough for the whole kiosk to hear. He left eventually, but not because he wanted to.”

He was right about one thing. Ferris wasn’t done.

Two days later a supplier called from an unknown number.

“Got a weird call. Someone saying you’re going bankrupt. That you won’t pay invoices. Wanted to check in.”

“Who called?”

“Didn’t give a name. Older guy. Said he was family.”

I thanked him and called two more suppliers. Both had received similar calls.

Ferris still had connections from his delivery days. He was weaponizing all of them.

Then came the licensing complaint. An anonymous tip triggered an inspection.

My paperwork was clean, but the disruption cost me two days. It cost me one wholesale account that paused orders until things stabilized.

The inspector apologized. He said the complaint was obviously bogus, but the city had to respond.,

A week later, my second location got hit with a safety complaint. Different angle, same intent.

Baseless and disruptive. The pattern was obvious.

Keep hitting me until I broke or paid. I went fully procedural.

I installed cameras at both shops. I gave staff a script.

“Please leave or we’ll call security.”

I called a lawyer and had a cease and desist drafted. No trespass notices.

One more incident and it became criminal. The lawyer mailed everything certified.

He warned me it could take time. Three days later, my phone lit up with texts.

“No, you got a lawyer? Seriously?”

“Ila, this is extreme.”

“Salma, after everything we’ve done for you!”

I blocked all three. They tried new numbers.

I blocked those, too. Two weeks after the cease and desist, they showed up at my main shop together.

Peak hours, Saturday, maximum audience. My tech lead came to the back.

“They’re here. Both of them at the counter.”

Ferris was trying to charm customers. Salma stood beside him looking wounded and holy.

She always did know how to perform.

“We need to talk,”

Ferris said.

“This has gone too far.”

“Leave,”

I said,

“or we call it in.”

“We’re your parents! We deserve respect!”

Salma’s breathing was ragged. She’d been spiraling for weeks.

She had been ignored, confronted, and legally shut out. Ferris was pushing her forward like a malfunctioning weapon.

“You don’t get to show up after 19 years,”

I said.

“19 years!”

Salma snapped.

“You act like we abandoned you on a street corner! We found you a home!”

“What else did you find?”

I asked before that.

Ferris paled.

“This isn’t the place.”

“What did you book?”

I repeated, staring directly at her.

She started shaking. Not with fear; with rage with nowhere left to go.

“We scheduled the procedure when we found out it was a boy!”

she spat.

“We didn’t go through with it. You should be grateful!”

The shop went silent. Customers, staff, everyone heard it.