Chapter 5
The legal battle was brutal.
Reginald spared no expense. He hired three of the most aggressive firms in the state. He leaked stories. He told friends I was unstable. That I had affairs. That I was trying to extort him.
But Fletcher was ready.
We had the timeline. The medical records. The dates. The proof that Reginald had known about his condition—and kept it from me—before we married.
And I had something else: the truth.
When the day of the hearing arrived, I walked into the courtroom eight months pregnant, head held high, and told the judge exactly what had happened.
“I stood on his doorstep in the middle of the night,” I said, my voice steady. “With nothing. Because my husband realized our son would prove he had been lying about his health. And instead of welcoming his child, he chose to destroy us both to protect his reputation.”
Reginald watched me from across the room. He looked furious. But beneath the fury, I saw fear. Real, raw fear.
Because he knew.
He knew the test would come back positive. He knew his secret was about to become public. He knew he had lost.
The judge ordered the prenatal test immediately.
Reginald’s lawyers fought it. They appealed. They delayed.
But science does not care about money or influence.
Two weeks later, the results came back.
Probability of paternity: 99.99%.
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I handed the paper to Fletcher. He looked at it, then at me.
“It’s over,” he said.
