The stranger at my door had a twisted smile and steely eyes, and he looked like trouble. However, he didn’t make a sales pitch or ask for instructions when he opened his mouth. After saying something that chilled my blood, he made a demand that completely altered the course of events.
When the doorbell rang, I had just put our four-year-old to sleep for the day. I went to the door and retrieved a dish towel off the counter to wipe my hands. However, the person I saw when I opened the door was even more eerie.
The man standing there appeared tough, as if he had been using his bare hands to punch his way through life for decades, losing most of the time.
Then his gaze snapped back to me, a crooked smile spreading across his weathered face.
“Emily,” he said, his voice a strange mix of gravel and nerve. “It’s me. Your father.”
I blinked. For a second, I thought I’d misheard him. “I’m sorry, what?”
He shifted his weight, clearly enjoying my confusion. “Your father,” he repeated, louder this time, as though that would make it sink in. “You don’t recognize me?”
“No,” I said flatly, gripping the edge of the door. “I don’t.”
My biological father was a shadow, a part of my history that I had made a concerted effort to ignore. And suddenly he was, cocky and unwelcome, standing on my porch.
“That’s fine,” he said, shrugging. “I’m not here for pleasantries. I’m here to claim what’s mine.”
My stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”
“Half,” he said. “Of everything. Half of your life.”
“I heard you’re doing well for yourself. Very well. Nice house, nice car. Married with a kid.” His eyes darted to the sparkling wedding band on my finger. “I figured it’s time you shared the wealth—with the man who made it all possible.”
I blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb,” he said, leaning against the doorframe like he had every right to be there. “Without me, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have been adopted by that rich family of yours. I gave you that chance by letting you go. And now it’s time you paid me back. I want fifty percent of everything you own.” His hand swept dramatically over the entryway. “I like this mansion you’re living in.”
His statements struck me like a slap for their arrogance.
I folded my arms, trying to steady myself. “You gave me up. Do you know what that was like for me? Do you have any idea—”
He cut me off, waving a hand dismissively. “Spare me the sob story. You’re doing great now, aren’t you? That’s what matters. And you’re welcome, by the way.”
“You’re insane,” I shot back, my voice shaking. “You don’t get to waltz into my life after twenty-five years and demand anything.”
My husband, Daniel, was there, entering the foyer with the cool assurance of someone who wouldn’t put up with b*llshit.
The sight of Daniel seemed to deflate the boldness radiating from my biological father. His smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty.
“Who’s this?” Daniel asked his tone even but protective.
“My biological father,” I said, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “Apparently, he thinks I owe him half of everything I own because he ‘let me go.'”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here,” Daniel said, his voice low and cutting. “Especially with that kind of demand.”
My father puffed up slightly, though his posture betrayed his discomfort. “It’s not unreasonable,” he said, attempting to reclaim his swagger. “Without me, she wouldn’t have had the chance—”
“Chance?” Daniel cut him off sharply, taking another step forward.
“Without you, she wouldn’t have suffered the way she did. She wasn’t adopted by a ‘rich family.’ She was dumped into foster care and passed from one awful home to another. One family treated her like a servant—had her scrubbing floors when she was barely tall enough to hold a mop. She ran away at sixteen with nothing but the clothes on her back. That’s the legacy you left her.”
The man blinked, his boldness faltering. “That’s not—”
“And she didn’t rebuild her life alone,” Daniel cut in, his voice steady but laced with righteous anger.
“We met in that same orphanage after my parents dumped me there. We were just kids, but we made a promise—to survive, to create the lives we deserved, and to find each other again someday. And we did. Every dollar we have, every brick in this house, every ounce of joy—we earned it. You didn’t give her anything but scars.”
Daniel stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone.
“Not a damn thing. Not your validation. Not your approval. And definitely not your greed. You don’t get to walk in here and rewrite history. She’s better off without you. Now get off my property before I call the police.”
Before shutting the door, Daniel waited until the man had vanished down the street. The ensuing hush was deafening. I started crying when he turned to face me and pulled me into his arms as he walked across the room.
“You’re the strongest person I know,” he murmured, his voice soft now. “He doesn’t deserve a second of your energy. You built this life. We built this life.”
I nodded against his chest, the weight of the encounter slowly melting away. “You’re right,” I whispered. “I owe him nothing.”
Daniel pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, a small, determined smile on his face. “That’s because everything you are, you’ve earned. And no one—especially him—gets to take that from you.”
