Chapter 5
We left Sienna's house with my baby, my dignity, and a police escort.
Ryan followed us to the sidewalk, his composure finally cracking. "Lily, wait. Wait! We can talk about this—"
I didn't turn around. I climbed into the backseat of Dominic's SUV, my son pressed against my chest, and Harper closed the door behind me.
Through the window, I watched Ryan standing barefoot on the pavement, Sienna clinging to his arm, both of them looking smaller than I'd ever seen them.
Good.
At Harper's apartment, she'd already prepared a bassinet, formula, diapers — everything a newborn needed. She'd done it all in under an hour.
"I texted my mom," Harper said, warming a bottle. "She's bringing her old baby monitor tomorrow."
I sat on her couch with my son — I hadn't even named him yet. Ryan and I had agreed on Oliver, but the name now tasted bitter. That had been chosen during a time when I believed my husband was human.
"You don't have to decide tonight," Harper said softly, reading my face. "For now, he's Baby Monroe."
I half-laughed, half-sobbed.
Dominic reappeared from the hallway, his jacket discarded, his tie loosened. He looked tired — but not done.
"Tomorrow morning, we file for divorce and full custody simultaneously," he said, sitting across from me. "I've documented everything: the hospital fraud, the concealment, the coercion. The psychiatric flag alone could constitute abuse."
"Will he fight it?" I asked.
"He'll try." Dominic's expression was grim. "Men like Ryan don't lose gracefully. He'll claim you're unstable, that Sienna was 'helping,' that he had the baby's best interest at heart."
"And the court will believe him?"
"Not by the time I'm done." The certainty in his voice wasn't arrogance. It was a promise.
I looked down at my baby, who slept through all of it — the drama, the raised voices, the car ride. Peaceful. Oblivious. Perfect.
"Thank you," I said. "Both of you."
Harper hugged me from behind. Dominic simply nodded.
That night, I slept with my son beside me in the bassinet, one hand on his chest to feel it rise and fall.
At 3 a.m., my phone lit up.
Fourteen missed calls from Ryan. Seven texts, escalating from apologetic to threatening.
The last one read: *"You'll regret involving lawyers. I was trying to handle this privately. Now it gets ugly."*
I screenshot every message and forwarded them to Dominic.
His reply came instantly, despite the hour: *"Let him. Ugly is where I do my best work."*
For the first time in days, I smiled.
Ryan followed us to the sidewalk, his composure finally cracking. "Lily, wait. Wait! We can talk about this—"
I didn't turn around. I climbed into the backseat of Dominic's SUV, my son pressed against my chest, and Harper closed the door behind me.
Through the window, I watched Ryan standing barefoot on the pavement, Sienna clinging to his arm, both of them looking smaller than I'd ever seen them.
Good.
At Harper's apartment, she'd already prepared a bassinet, formula, diapers — everything a newborn needed. She'd done it all in under an hour.
"I texted my mom," Harper said, warming a bottle. "She's bringing her old baby monitor tomorrow."
I sat on her couch with my son — I hadn't even named him yet. Ryan and I had agreed on Oliver, but the name now tasted bitter. That had been chosen during a time when I believed my husband was human.
"You don't have to decide tonight," Harper said softly, reading my face. "For now, he's Baby Monroe."
I half-laughed, half-sobbed.
Dominic reappeared from the hallway, his jacket discarded, his tie loosened. He looked tired — but not done.
"Tomorrow morning, we file for divorce and full custody simultaneously," he said, sitting across from me. "I've documented everything: the hospital fraud, the concealment, the coercion. The psychiatric flag alone could constitute abuse."
"Will he fight it?" I asked.
"He'll try." Dominic's expression was grim. "Men like Ryan don't lose gracefully. He'll claim you're unstable, that Sienna was 'helping,' that he had the baby's best interest at heart."
"And the court will believe him?"
"Not by the time I'm done." The certainty in his voice wasn't arrogance. It was a promise.
I looked down at my baby, who slept through all of it — the drama, the raised voices, the car ride. Peaceful. Oblivious. Perfect.
"Thank you," I said. "Both of you."
Harper hugged me from behind. Dominic simply nodded.
That night, I slept with my son beside me in the bassinet, one hand on his chest to feel it rise and fall.
At 3 a.m., my phone lit up.
Fourteen missed calls from Ryan. Seven texts, escalating from apologetic to threatening.
The last one read: *"You'll regret involving lawyers. I was trying to handle this privately. Now it gets ugly."*
I screenshot every message and forwarded them to Dominic.
His reply came instantly, despite the hour: *"Let him. Ugly is where I do my best work."*
For the first time in days, I smiled.