I became a dad at eighteen—not to my own kids, but to my twin half-sisters, Ava and Ellen—after our mom, Lorraine, abandoned them. I dropped my plans for college, worked any job I could find, learned to manage diapers, bottles, and school forms, and became their constant in a life full of chaos. Over the years, I built routines, cared for them, and earned their trust and love.
Seven years later, Lorraine returned—dressed, polished, bringing gifts—but it quickly became clear she didn’t come back out of love. She wanted custody, claiming she “needed” them for herself. The twins saw through it immediately, siding with me, and I fought back legally with school and medical records proving I was their parent.
The court granted me full guardianship, forcing Lorraine to provide child support. Now, at twenty-five, I’m still “Bubba,” still raising them, balancing night classes and work, but finally breathing a little. Lorraine came back looking for a story; she left me with proof that I hadn’t just survived raising them—I had earned them, and I’m never letting go.