When I announced my pregnancy, my mother-in-law said, “get rid of it.”

But ultimately I decided that growing up with his rejection would hurt more than never knowing him. Gideon filed the motion and we got a court date for January right after Lily’s first birthday.

Thomas’s lawyer called to say Thomas wouldn’t contest the termination. He said Thomas agreed it was best for everyone involved.

The hearing was brief, just 10 minutes before a judge who reviewed the visitation records and Thomas’ lack of involvement. She asked Thomas directly if he understood he was giving up all parental rights permanently and he said yes without hesitation.

She asked if he understood this meant no contact with the child and no obligation for child support and again he said yes. He looked relieved when the judge signed the papers like a burden had been lifted.

I felt sad for Lily that her biological father was choosing to walk away completely. But I also felt grateful she wouldn’t grow up with his half-hearted presence, with a father who saw her as an obligation rather than a gift.

The judge terminated his rights and released him from support obligations. Thomas left the courtroom without looking at me or asking about Lily.

Roman came over that evening and asked if Lily could call him Uncle Roman when she started talking. I told him she absolutely would because he had earned that title through his constant presence and love.

I said that he had been more of a parent figure than Thomas ever was. He had shown up for every milestone, every doctor’s appointment I had invited him to, every random Tuesday when I just needed help.

He had learned to change diapers and prepare bottles. He had researched child development so he could support Lily’s growth.

Everything Margaret believed about people with Down syndrome was ignorant prejudice proven wrong by Roman’s capability and dedication. Lily adored him and lit up whenever he walked in the room, reaching for him and babbling excitedly when she heard his voice.

He was going to be the male role model in her life, the person who showed her what unconditional love looked like. Watching him hold her that night while singing a lullaby he had memorized, I felt grateful for the family I had chosen instead of the one I had married into.

Lily’s first birthday party filled my parents’ backyard with people who actually loved her. Mom had decorated with pink and gold balloons and Dad had set up tables loaded with food.

Roman hung a banner he had made himself and Cole brought his son who was now walking and getting into everything. My support group friends came with their kids and even Meera showed up with a carefully chosen gift.

Lily wore a little crown and seemed confused by all the attention, but she smiled at everyone who talked to her. We did the cake smash photos with Lily sitting in her high chair and she grabbed handfuls of frosting and smeared it everywhere while laughing.

Her joy was pure and unself-conscious and everyone took photos of her covered in pink frosting with cake in her hair. I snapped a picture on my phone of her mid-laugh, frosting on her nose and pure happiness on her face, surrounded by people who loved her for exactly who she was.

This was what family actually looked like: not the cold judgment of the Rossy household but this warm chaos of people who showed up and stayed.

I pushed the shopping cart down the produce aisle while Lily sat in the seat, her little legs swinging. She was 14 months old now and walking everywhere at home, but the cart kept her contained while I grabbed groceries.

She babbled constantly, pointing at bright-colored fruits and making up words that almost sounded real. I was reaching for apples when I felt someone staring at us from across the aisle.

Margaret stood frozen near the bananas, her eyes locked on Lily. The restraining order meant she couldn’t approach within 50 feet, but nothing stopped her from looking.

Lily chose that moment to laugh at something, a pure joyful sound that echoed through the produce section. She clapped her tiny hands together.

“Mama apple,” she said, pointing.

Margaret’s face changed as she watched and I saw the exact moment she realized her granddaughter was perfect. Lily was healthy and thriving and clearly developing normally, everything Margaret had insisted was impossible with my genetics.

I felt satisfaction bloom in my chest as I watched Margaret’s expression shift from shock to something that might have been regret. I turned the cart around and headed toward the checkout, leaving Margaret standing there among the bananas.

Her loss was entirely her own fault and I didn’t waste another thought on her. Meera called me a week later, her voice careful and measured.

She said Thomas wanted me to know he was getting remarried, as if his life updates mattered to me anymore. I asked why she was telling me this and she hesitated before admitting Thomas had told his fiancée he didn’t have children.

He had erased Lily completely from his new life, pretending she didn’t exist so he could start fresh without the complication of a daughter. The words stung for maybe 30 seconds before I realized it was actually perfect.

Lily would never know the pain of a father who showed up occasionally out of obligation. She would never experience the confusion of being treated like a burden.

Thomas removing himself so completely was a gift, even if he didn’t mean it that way. I thanked Meera for letting me know and hung up, then went to check on Lily who was napping in her crib.

She slept peacefully, one hand curled under her chin, completely unaware that her biological father had chosen to pretend she didn’t exist. Better this than years of disappointment and half-hearted visits.

Roman came over that afternoon like he did most days after work and Lily heard his voice from her room. She pulled herself up using the crib rails and started bouncing excitedly, making the sounds she made when she wanted out.

I lifted her and she immediately reached for Roman, babbled her greeting. He took her and started their usual routine of silly faces and songs and that’s when she said it.

The word was clear and deliberate, her eyes locked on Roman’s face. “Unka,” she said.

Roman froze, tears filling his eyes instantly. He looked at me like he needed confirmation he had heard correctly and I nodded while my own eyes got wet.

Lily patted his cheek and said it again, proud of her new word. Roman held her close and cried happy tears while she kept repeating “Unka” like she had discovered something wonderful.

She was growing into such a confident joyful toddler, surrounded by people who loved her completely. She would never know about Margaret’s cruelty or Thomas’s rejection.

She would never understand that his family had wanted her aborted before she was born. Every day I felt grateful that I had chosen to protect her from that toxicity, even though leaving Thomas had been terrifying at the time.

Watching Roman with her now, seeing how much he loved being her uncle, I knew I had made the right choice. At Lily’s 18-month checkup Julie measured and weighed her, checking all the developmental milestones.

Lily cooperated cheerfully, showing off her walking and her growing vocabulary, pointing at things and naming them with her toddler pronunciation. Julie finished the exam and looked at me with a smile.

She said she had been a pediatrician for 15 years and she had never seen a happier healthier child than Lily. The words hit me harder than I expected and I had to blink back tears.

I had built this beautiful life from the ashes of my marriage. I had created a safe and loving home for my daughter with help from my family and friends.

I was a successful single mother with an amazing support system. I had a daughter who was thriving and the confidence that every choice I had made was right.

Margaret had been wrong about everything: her prejudice and her predictions and her certainty that my genetics would produce a defective child. Thomas had revealed his true character when it mattered most, showing me he would always choose his mother’s approval over doing what was right.

Lily and I were so much better off without them, surrounded instead by people like Roman and my parents and Julie who loved us unconditionally. I buckled Lily into her car seat after the appointment, listening to her babble about the stickers Julie had given her, and I felt completely at peace with my life.