I met Martin when I was twenty-five. Tall, calm, confident, charming in the effortless way Ghanaian men can be when they want something. We met at a friend’s birthday party; he wasn’t the loudest man there, but something about him drew me in. By the end of that week, he was already calling me “wife.”

Then I got pregnant.

I still remember my voice shaking when I called him.
“Martin… I missed my period. I tested. It’s positive.”
Silence. Then a sigh.
“Adwoa, I’m not ready. Don’t complicate things. I’ll send you money. Let’s just handle it quietly.”

He later came to my house with cash, trying to force me to take it. When I refused, he accused me of trapping him.
“Who even knows if it’s mine?”
Those words broke something inside me.

My parents threw me out, and my aunt took me in. I went through the entire pregnancy alone. When my daughter, Nora, was born, it felt like the world reset itself. She had Martin’s eyes — sharp, curious, unmistakable.

Three years later, Martin returned.

He called one Sunday, sounding soft.
“I’ve been thinking about you and the baby. Can we meet?”

We met. He told me he was married now. His wife knew about Nora. He wanted to “do the right thing.”

I let him into Nora’s life.
He visited on weekends, brought toys, paid for daycare and medical bills. For the first time in years, things felt peaceful — like maybe he had finally grown up.

I didn’t know he had an agenda.

A year later he said,
“Adwoa, I want Nora to come live with me.”
I froze.
He explained his wife had just given birth, and they wanted both children under one roof.
I said no.

For weeks, we argued. Then one morning, he showed up at my gate with two men.
“This is my pastor,” he said.

The pastor claimed God had revealed that Martin and his wife were destined to raise Nora.
He called this situation “spiritual warfare.”
He even invited me to church so he could “reveal the true intentions of God.”

I looked Martin in the eye and asked,
“So the same pastor who never saw this pregnancy coming… now sees the future?”

I asked them to leave.

That night I couldn’t sleep. The next day, I met a lawyer friend. She listened to everything and said,
“You have a strong case. You’ve been the sole caregiver. No court will take your daughter away.”

Still, I was afraid. Martin had money. Men with money bend systems.

Weeks later, he called again.
“Let’s not make this ugly. If it’s money you want, tell me. I’ll borrow if I have to — I just want my daughter.”

I told him,
“You can’t buy my child. Go focus on your marriage.”

That was the last time I spoke to him directly.

Now he tells people I’m the problem. Even my father tried to convince me to give Nora up. It felt like Martin had bought everyone.

But every time Nora runs into my arms shouting “Mama!”, I know I’m doing the right thing.
Martin may have helped bring her into the world,
but I am the one who stayed — through fevers, tears, school fees, sleepless nights.

He has money.
I have love.
And I will fight for my daughter until the very end.