My Dad Raised Me Alone After My Birth Mother Walked Away and Left Me in His Bicycle Basket at Three Months Old — Eighteen Years Later, She Appeared at My Graduation

“Stop this! You’re making me look bad on purpose,” Liza reached toward me again, a frantic expression on her face, “but nothing can change the fact that she doesn’t belong to you.”

I stepped behind Dad.

“Stop this, Liza! You’re scaring her. Why are you even here?” Dad asked.

Liza’s eyes widened. For a moment, fear flashed across her face. Then she turned toward the crowd and raised her voice.

“Help me, please. Don’t let him keep my child from me any longer.”

My child. Not my name. Not “daughter.” Just a claim.

“Stop this, Liza! You’re scaring her. Why are you even here?”