Chapter 3

The next month was a war of attrition fought on two fronts: the legal battlefield and the court of public opinion. Andrew moved in with Molly immediately, and true to his word, he began flaunting his new life.

His social media became a sickeningly sweet highlight reel. Andrew giving "Aiden" his first bath. Andrew and Molly, looking like a happy couple, taking the baby for a walk in the park. Andrew posting a picture of the baby's tiny hand wrapped around his finger with the caption, "My reason for everything. #FamilyFirst."

His family, of course, amplified the message. They shared every post, adding comments like, "So proud of the man and father you've become, Andrew!" and "Aiden is so lucky to have such a devoted dad." They were building a narrative, painting him as the doting father and me, by my very absence, as the cold, uncaring wife who had abandoned her new family.

Meanwhile, I was quietly gathering my ammunition. My lawyer, Robert, was methodical. We started with the hospital records from my first "miscarriage." They were suspiciously clean, almost too perfect. No complications noted, just a standard D&C procedure. But there was no record of the fetal remains being handled according to protocol. They had simply... vanished.

Then Clark and his wife made their move. They showed up at my door one afternoon, their faces a practiced mask of concern.

"Gabrielle, we need to talk," Clark said, stepping inside without an invitation.

His wife, Sarah, clutched a large designer handbag to her chest. "We know this is hard for you. We can't imagine what you're going through."

"Can't you?" I asked, my voice flat. "I'm sure you can. You've had my daughter for eight years."

Sarah flinched. Clark's jaw tightened.

"Look, we're willing to be reasonable," he said, getting straight to the point. "We'll give you money. A lot of money. Enough for you to start over, go anywhere you want. Just drop this custody case. Think of Madisyn."

"I am thinking of Madisyn," I said. "And she's not for sale."

Their faces hardened. The fake sympathy evaporated.

"You're being selfish," Sarah hissed. "You're going to traumatize her."

The next week, they escalated. They started using Madisyn as a weapon. They would drive past my house, and I'd see her small face in the back window, staring at me with confused, hurt eyes. Then came the phone calls. Clark would put her on the line.

"Say hello to Gabrielle," he'd instruct her.

A small, hesitant voice would come through the speaker. "Hello."

"Madisyn, honey, why don't you tell Gabrielle what you told me?" Sarah would coo in the background.

There would be a pause, then the coached words would tumble out.

"Mommy says you're a bad lady. She says you want to break our family. You're a home-wrecker."

The words were a punch to the gut, but I knew who they were coming from. I would just hang up, my hand shaking with a rage so cold it burned. They were poisoning her against me, turning my own child into a tool for emotional manipulation.

The final straw came one evening. I was sitting in the dark, scrolling through Andrew's latest post-a video of him rocking Aiden to sleep-when my doorbell rang insistently. I opened it to find Andrew on my doorstep, his face thunderous. Molly was standing behind him on the walkway, holding the baby carrier, a nervous look on her face.

"What is this?" I demanded.

"We need to talk," Andrew said, pushing past me into the house. "You need to stop this harassment. My family is getting threatening messages because of the lies you're spreading."

"I haven't spread any lies," I said, my voice rising. "I'm fighting for my daughter. The one you stole."

"She is not your daughter anymore!" he roared. "She is Clark's! And you are ruining her life with this obsession!"

Molly shifted nervously by the door. "Andrew, maybe this isn't a good idea..."

"Stay out of this, Molly," he snapped, not even looking at her. His eyes were locked on me, filled with a venom I had never seen before. "You're going to call your lawyer and you're going to drop this. Now."

"No."

The word was quiet but absolute. It broke his control.

He took a step forward, his chest puffed out, invading my space. "You think you can just defy me? After everything I've done for you?"

"Everything you've done for me?" I laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. "You mean lie to me for eight years?"

That's when it happened. He shoved me. Hard. It wasn't a casual push; it was a violent, aggressive act meant to intimidate, to dominate. I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the edge of a rug, and fell to the floor. The shock of it, the raw physicality of his anger, stunned me into silence. He had never, ever been violent with me before.

He stared down at me, his chest heaving. There was no remorse in his eyes, only contempt.

He turned to Molly. "Get the baby. We're moving in. I'm not leaving her here to plot and destroy my family. This is my house too, and you're staying with me."

Molly's eyes widened, but she didn't protest. She just nodded meekly and brought the baby inside.

Andrew looked back down at me, still on the floor.

"This is on you, Gabi," he said, his voice cold. "You brought this on yourself."