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I’ve never felt so complete, so alive. Every time I look down at my growing belly, I can’t help but smile, this is real happiness. Knowing that my baby will be strong, healthy, and blessed with the powerful genetics of his Black father fills me with a pride I can’t put into words. Let them whisper. Let them call me whatever they want, "race traitor," "disgrace", it doesn't matter. Their opinions are worthless to me. I chose this path because I want a son who stands tall, confident in his own skin, with strength running through his veins. Not some pale, soft boy who wouldn't know what to do with himself if life demanded real resilience. I've seen what weakness looks like, fragile white boys who crumble under pressure, whose idea of masculinity is performative and frail. That's not what I want for my child. It doesn't matter to me if I'm a single mom. I know he's probably already found another willing girl, maybe even knocked her up before my own son is born. And you know what? Good for him. He’s doing exactly what he was born to do. Each new pregnancy is a victory, another strong Black child brought into the world because of him. While weak men worry about commitment and playing house, real men like him are out there fulfilling their biological destiny. I'm proud to be part of that. My son will grow up knowing his father is a legend, a force of nature who left his mark on this world in the most fundamental way possible.