Years ago, I donated to a friend so she could finally have a baby. I watched from a distance as she raised her son, having no parental claim and expecting nothing—until the boy turned twenty-two.
He reached out, wanting a connection, which I politely declined to protect the life I had built. Later, the situation escalated; he began demanding a place in my will and claiming I was his father “whether I liked it or not.” The entitlement was as shocking as it was relentless.
To protect my family, I cut all contact, obtained a restraining order, and confirmed legally that my role was strictly that of a donor. Sometimes, doing the right thing means enforcing hard boundaries—especially when someone mistakes a past act of generosity for a lifelong legal obligation.
