She Got Pregnant After We Broke Up, and Now Says the Baby Is Mine

Three weeks after we broke up, my phone rang and I saw her name. I almost did not pick it, but curiosity got the better of me. When I answered, her voice was calm in a way that made me suspicious. She said she was pregnant. According to her, it might have come from our last encounter before the breakup.

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We broke up because she cheated. Not rumors. Not assumptions. I had evidence. I saw messages and timelines that did not add up. I confronted her and she denied it like her life depended on it, but I knew what I saw. I knew what I read. I knew the truth. I walked away angry, hurt, and humiliated, telling myself I was done for good. So when she called to say she was pregnant, my first reaction was disbelief. My second was anger.

I told her plainly that I did not believe the pregnancy was mine. She insisted it was. She said, “You can do a DNA if you want to be sure, but it’s yours.”

That sentence alone burnt every hope I had in me. Everything feels like a setup. It feels like I am being dragged back into something I escaped from with my sanity barely intact.

I told her the truth as I knew it then. I was not ready to be a father. I said it clearly and without sugarcoating. I told her that even if the child turned out to be mine, I would not be available to take care of it. I told her she should decide for herself and also be ready to bear the consequences alone.

I did not promise marriage. I did not promise support. I did not promise presence. I told her exactly where I stood. In my mind, honesty was the least cruel thing I could offer in that moment. Then days later she called again, this time sounding distressed, saying she needed money to get rid of it. I paused. I hated myself for even being in that position. But fear has a way of loosening principles. I gave her the money. Not because I wanted her back. Not because I trusted her. But because I wanted the situation to end. I wanted peace. I wanted finality.

After collecting the money, she called again and said, “I’ve changed my mind. I’m keeping it.” At that point, something inside me snapped. I felt played. I felt used. I felt trapped. I had done what she asked, only for the goalpost to be shifted again.

I told her, “Keep it, but don’t later come and accuse me of being a deadbeat father. I don’t want to be close to you or anything that’s close to you, so you can keep the baby and be solely responsible.”

Those words did not come from cruelty, but from a man who felt cornered by a situation he did not create but was now being forced to own. She is determined to have the child. She says it with conviction, like this is her final card. And I know how things work here. If the child is proven to be mine, the law will not care about how the pregnancy happened or the emotional mess behind it. I might be pushed to take care of the child regardless of my readiness or my consent.

That thought terrifies me. I hate the idea that my first experience of fatherhood could be tied forever to someone I consider manipulative, a cheat, and very selfish. I know those words sound harsh, but they come from lived experience, not bitterness alone. I saw how she lied with ease. I saw how she twisted narratives. I saw how she took no responsibility until it suited her. The idea that this person might be permanently connected to my life through a child makes my skin crawl.

I replay everything in my head again and again. Our last encounter. The breakup. The timing. The confidence with which she insists the child is mine. The casual way she talks about DNA as if it is just another bargaining chip. I ask myself if this is punishment for loving the wrong person or for staying longer than I should have.

A man is already judged the moment a pregnancy is mentioned. You are guilty first, explanations later. If I walk away, I am heartless. If I stay, I am trapped. If I wait for DNA, I am irresponsible. If I demand peace, I am selfish. There is no version of this story where I come out clean in the eyes of people who were not there when the betrayal happened.

I am angry, yes, but I am also scared. Scared of being tied for life to chaos. Scared of losing control over my future. Scared of waking up one day and realizing that one bad relationship determined the rest of my life.

I hate that she gets to change her mind so easily while my own choices feel like they are being erased. I hate that I tried to be honest and was still cast as the villain. I hate that I gave money in good faith and it was turned into another weapon. Above all, I hate that I am now forced to think about fatherhood in the middle of emotional wreckage instead of joy, stability, and love.

This is not how I imagined my life. This is not how I wanted my story to begin. And yet here I am, asking myself a lot of questions. What options do I have now regarding this issue? Because walking away feels impossible, staying feels like a trap, and trusting her feels like self-betrayal. I know I will forever hate myself if this girl bears my first child, not because the child would be unwanted, but because the situation is poisoned at the root.

Marriage Through the Eyes of Millennials and Gen-Z

I do not want her anywhere close to my life, yet the law, society, and circumstance may decide otherwise. So I ask you reading this, what do I do going forward? I wish I didn’t have to wait to do a DNA test. I wish it ends here so I don’t have to be tied to her in even just a day.

—Osibo

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