Chapter 10
Dr. Owens' report came back: no psychiatric concerns, no signs of instability, full recommendation for primary custody.
Ryan's legal team scrambled. Without the "unfit mother" argument, they had nothing.
The court date was set for the following Friday.
But Ryan wasn't finished yet.
Three days before the hearing, he showed up at the park where I'd been taking Leo for morning walks. He looked terrible — unshaven, wrinkled shirt, dark circles like bruises.
"Lily." He fell into step beside me, hands in his pockets. "I'm begging you. Drop this."
I kept walking. "Sign the divorce papers and agree to supervised visitation. Then we're done."
"I'm his father. You can't cut me out of his life."
"You cut yourself out the moment you gave him to your girlfriend."
"She wasn't my girlfriend!" His voice rose. An elderly couple on a bench looked over. He lowered it again. "Sienna was... she was someone who needed help. I was trying to do a good thing."
"A good thing." I stopped walking and turned to face him. "You told the hospital I was psychotic. You forged reasons to keep my own baby from me. You drained our bank accounts. You were funding your ex's life with my money for a year."
He flinched at each point, but recovered quickly. "Those accounts were joint. I had every right—"
"And the psychiatric flag? Did you have a right to that too?"
His mouth opened. Closed.
"Ryan." I looked at him clearly — really looked. At the man I'd married, the man I'd shared a bed with, the man I'd trusted with my body and my child. "Did you ever love me? Even once?"
He stared at me. And for the first time, he looked genuinely lost.
"I... of course I did."
"Then why was it so easy?"
He didn't answer.
I turned the stroller around and walked away.
That evening, Sienna made her last move.
She contacted a tabloid journalist and offered an "exclusive" — her side of the story, framed as a heartbreaking tale of a woman who "nearly became a mother" before having a child "cruelly taken away."
The journalist did her due diligence. She contacted Dominic's firm for comment.
Dominic provided the court filings, the bank records, the hospital documents, and Sienna's own text messages to me.
The article ran the next morning, but not the way Sienna expected.
**"BABY SCHEME: Woman and Ex-Boyfriend Orchestrate Newborn Theft From Postpartum Mother"**
By noon, it had two million views.
Sienna's name was everywhere — not as a victim, but as what she was.
A co-conspirator.
By evening, Ryan's attorney called Dominic and accepted every single term of our divorce agreement.
Full custody. Sole decision-making authority. Child support. The marital home. And a restraining order keeping both Ryan and Sienna at least five hundred feet from Leo.
I signed the papers at Dominic's office, my hand steady and my eyes dry.
It was over.
Ryan's legal team scrambled. Without the "unfit mother" argument, they had nothing.
The court date was set for the following Friday.
But Ryan wasn't finished yet.
Three days before the hearing, he showed up at the park where I'd been taking Leo for morning walks. He looked terrible — unshaven, wrinkled shirt, dark circles like bruises.
"Lily." He fell into step beside me, hands in his pockets. "I'm begging you. Drop this."
I kept walking. "Sign the divorce papers and agree to supervised visitation. Then we're done."
"I'm his father. You can't cut me out of his life."
"You cut yourself out the moment you gave him to your girlfriend."
"She wasn't my girlfriend!" His voice rose. An elderly couple on a bench looked over. He lowered it again. "Sienna was... she was someone who needed help. I was trying to do a good thing."
"A good thing." I stopped walking and turned to face him. "You told the hospital I was psychotic. You forged reasons to keep my own baby from me. You drained our bank accounts. You were funding your ex's life with my money for a year."
He flinched at each point, but recovered quickly. "Those accounts were joint. I had every right—"
"And the psychiatric flag? Did you have a right to that too?"
His mouth opened. Closed.
"Ryan." I looked at him clearly — really looked. At the man I'd married, the man I'd shared a bed with, the man I'd trusted with my body and my child. "Did you ever love me? Even once?"
He stared at me. And for the first time, he looked genuinely lost.
"I... of course I did."
"Then why was it so easy?"
He didn't answer.
I turned the stroller around and walked away.
That evening, Sienna made her last move.
She contacted a tabloid journalist and offered an "exclusive" — her side of the story, framed as a heartbreaking tale of a woman who "nearly became a mother" before having a child "cruelly taken away."
The journalist did her due diligence. She contacted Dominic's firm for comment.
Dominic provided the court filings, the bank records, the hospital documents, and Sienna's own text messages to me.
The article ran the next morning, but not the way Sienna expected.
**"BABY SCHEME: Woman and Ex-Boyfriend Orchestrate Newborn Theft From Postpartum Mother"**
By noon, it had two million views.
Sienna's name was everywhere — not as a victim, but as what she was.
A co-conspirator.
By evening, Ryan's attorney called Dominic and accepted every single term of our divorce agreement.
Full custody. Sole decision-making authority. Child support. The marital home. And a restraining order keeping both Ryan and Sienna at least five hundred feet from Leo.
I signed the papers at Dominic's office, my hand steady and my eyes dry.
It was over.