Chapter 8
The trial date was set for three months after our daughter was born.
I gave birth to a healthy, beautiful girl. I named her Lila.
She had my eyes. My stubborn chin. She was perfect.
When I held her in my arms for the first time, I thought about everything I had been through. The cold water. The humiliation. The betrayal.
And I realized: none of it had broken me. It had just made me stronger.
I sent one photo of Lila to Grant. Nothing else. Just her face.
He didn’t reply.
But I heard through Reed that he had seen her. That he had cried. That Sloan had been furious.
I didn’t care.
Lila was mine. My family was mine. My life was mine.
The trial lasted two weeks.
Grant and Dorothea lied. They changed their stories. They tried to paint me as the villain.
But the evidence was overwhelming. The witnesses. The messages. The money. The photos.
The jury didn’t believe them.
The judge’s ruling was clear and decisive.
Grant was ordered to pay me half of everything. The house. The savings. The investments.
He was ordered to pay substantial child support and alimony.
He was ordered to reimburse every dollar he had given to Sloan. Every cent.
And the judge made one thing very clear:
“Your conduct toward your wife was cruel, calculated, and illegal. You treated her like she was disposable. Like she had no rights. No dignity. You were wrong. She is entitled to respect. She is entitled to fairness. And she is entitled to every penny she has earned.”
Outside the courtroom, Dorothea screamed at me. Called me names. Threatened me.
I just looked at her.
“I hope it was worth it,” I said quietly. “Losing your son’s fortune. Your reputation. Everything. All to humiliate a pregnant woman.”
She stared at me. Speechless.
Grant didn’t say a word. He just looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time in years. And I saw it. Regret. Too little. Too late.
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He walked away. Sloan was already gone. She had disappeared the moment it became clear there would be no fortune to share.
I didn’t look back.
