The sound of my daughter’s cries echoed through the house, sending a shiver down my spine. With a sinking feeling in my chest, I hurried back to the room, my heart pounding with dread.

As I entered, the sight before me filled me with rage and disbelief. There was Jake, standing over my daughter’s crib, a mischievous grin on his face as he hovered menacingly over her. My daughter’s tiny form was wracked with sobs, her face red and tear-streaked.

“Jake, what are you doing?!” I demanded, my voice trembling with anger and fear.

He turned to face me, his expression defiant. “I was just trying to play with her,” he muttered, his tone insolent.

Fury surged through me as I realized the severity of the situation. My precious daughter, barely three months old, was defenseless against Jake’s reckless behavior. I had warned him countless times to be gentle around her, but it seemed my words had fallen on deaf ears.

Without a second thought, I knew what I had to do. I marched over to Jake and firmly grasped his arm, pulling him away from the crib. “That’s enough,” I said, my voice steely with determination. “You need to leave.”

His eyes widened in shock, and he opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “I mean it, Jake. Pack your things and get out. You can’t stay here anymore.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I watched him gather his belongings, but I knew in my heart that I was making the right decision. My daughter’s safety came first, and I refused to let anyone jeopardize it, not even my boyfriend’s son.

When my boyfriend returned home later that evening, he was met with an empty house and a note explaining my actions. I knew he would be devastated, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. My daughter’s well-being was worth more than any relationship, and I would do whatever it took to protect her.