I AM PREGNANT FOR MY STEPFATHER, BUT I WILL RATHER BEAR THE SHAME THAN ABORT- ANONYMOUS LADY SHARES

My mother remarried when I was 17. Her new husband seemed perfect. He was calm, charming, and generous. He treated me like his daughter or so I thought. Everyone praised him for being a “good man” who accepted another man’s child like his own. I believed them. I trusted him.

But things began to change slowly. At first, it was the way he complimented me too often, telling me I was “growing into a beautiful woman.” Then, the hugs became longer, the looks lingered, and one day, the boundaries disappeared completely.

That day still haunts me. It was raining heavily, and my mum had traveled for a family burial. I was home alone with him. I remember wearing a big T-shirt, trying to avoid him, but he came to my room, pretending to check if I was okay. I froze when he touched me. I wanted to scream, but my voice refused to come out. He whispered things I didn’t understand, and before I could process anything, it had happened.

I hated myself afterward. I didn’t tell anyone because I thought no one would believe me. My mother loved him too much, and she trusted him completely. I tried to avoid him, but he kept coming, pretending nothing happened. Sometimes, he would act like a father in public, and at night, he would sneak into my room like a stranger.

Months passed, and my period stopped. I ignored it at first, blaming stress. But when I started throwing up every morning, I knew something was wrong. I bought a test kit secretly and it was positive. I sat on the bathroom floor, shaking, crying, and wishing I could disappear.

When I told him, he panicked. He begged me not to tell my mother. He said he would find money for an abortion, that no one needed to know. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t do it. Not because I wasn’t ashamed, I was drowning in shame already but because I couldn’t bear to destroy the only innocent thing that came out of something so evil.

I have cried more than I’ve slept. I have hated my reflection in the mirror. I have imagined running away, even taking my life. But something in me keeps saying, “You are not your mistake.” I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t plan it. But now that it’s here, I’ll carry it.

People will judge me. They already do. They’ll call me names, whisper behind my back, and question my morals. But no one knows the battles I fight every day, the nights I stay up questioning my worth. I have chosen to bear the shame rather than end an innocent life.

Maybe one day, I’ll find the courage to tell my mother the truth. Maybe one day, I’ll forgive myself. But for now, I’m just surviving one day at a time, one tear at a time.

This is my story. Not because I’m proud of it, but because silence has killed too many girls like me.