Eight months pregnant and dead broke, I stood in the freezing divorce court rain while my ex tossed me a single $100 bill for a homeless shelter cab, his mistress smirking beside him wearing my dead mother’s stolen diamond necklace.

The morning of the hearing, I woke up sick to my stomach.

I threw up three times before I even got out of bed.

My hands shook so bad I could barely button my blouse.

Nathaniel made me tea, rubbed my back, told me over and over that everything was going to be okay.

But I knew better.

Judges were human.

They made mistakes.

And Jonathan had a way of making lies sound like the truth.

We left for the courthouse at 8 a.m.

Clara stayed home with Maggie, who’d driven in from Portland to be with us.

I didn’t want her anywhere near that courtroom, anywhere near Jonathan.

The courthouse was packed with reporters.

They yelled questions at us as we walked in, cameras flashing.

Nathaniel’s security team surrounded us, forming a wall between us and the press.

I kept my head down, holding Nathaniel’s hand so tight my knuckles turned white.

Inside the courtroom, it was cold.

The judge was a woman in her sixties, with gray hair pulled back in a tight bun and eyes that missed nothing.

Jonathan was already there, sitting at the plaintiff’s table with his lawyer.

He looked terrible—his suit was wrinkled, his eyes were red, he’d lost weight.

But when he saw me, he smirked.

Like he knew something I didn’t.

The judge called the court to order.

Jonathan’s lawyer stood up first.

He spent an hour painting me as a monster.

He talked about my foster care history, like being an orphan made me a bad mom.

He talked about the "drug allegations" from Lila’s video, even though we’d proven it was a lie.

He played a recording of a phone call between me and Jonathan from a week before the divorce—me crying, begging him not to kick me out, saying I’d "do anything" to stay.

He took it out of context, told the judge I was "emotionally unstable" and "prone to outbursts."

Then he called his first witness.

Lila.

She walked to the stand, wearing a plain gray dress, her hair pulled back, no makeup.

She looked like a saint.

She raised her hand, swore to tell the truth, and then she lied.

Straight to the judge’s face.

She testified that she’d seen me taking pills every day while I was pregnant.

She said I’d been drunk at a party when I was seven months along.

She said I’d told her I "didn’t even want the baby" and that I was only having her to get more money from Jonathan.

She cried as she talked, saying she’d "tried to help me" but I’d "threatened to hurt her" if she told anyone.

I sat there, listening to her, my blood boiling.

How could she say these things?

How could she look at the judge, swear on the Bible, and lie like that?

My mom’s necklace was still around her neck, glinting under the courtroom lights.

A reminder of every single thing Jonathan had stolen from me.

When it was our turn, Nathaniel’s lawyer stood up.

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t get emotional.

He just laid out the facts, one by one, cold and hard.

He showed the judge the $50,000 transfer from Jonathan to Lila the day before she posted her video.

He showed the text messages between them, planning the whole thing.

He played the video of Lila bragging to her friend about lying.

He showed her rap sheet—three arrests, two convictions, probation for theft.

Then he looked at Lila, calm as anything.

"Ms. Martinez," he said.

"You testified under oath that you saw Ms. Carter take prescription drugs while she was pregnant. Is that correct?"

Lila nodded, dabbing her eyes.

"Yes."

"And you testified that you saw her drunk at a party when she was seven months pregnant?"

"Yes."

"Then can you explain why, on the date of that party you mentioned, Ms. Carter was admitted to the hospital for dehydration and bed rest? She was there for three days. There are hospital records. Witnesses. She never left her room. How could she be at a party if she was in the hospital?"

Lila’s face went white.

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

"I— I must’ve gotten the date wrong," she stammered.

"Or you’re lying," the lawyer said.

"Just like you’re lying about the drugs. Just like you’re lying about everything. Because Jonathan Blackwell paid you fifty thousand dollars to lie about the mother of his child so he could steal her baby. Isn’t that right?"

Lila broke down crying.

"He made me do it!" she screamed.

"He said if I didn’t, he’d hurt me! He said he’d send me to jail for the shoplifting! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! None of it is true! Grace never did any of those things! Jonathan is the monster! Not her!"

The courtroom erupted.

The judge banged her gavel, over and over, yelling for order.

Lila was escorted out of the courtroom by a bailiff, still sobbing, still screaming that Jonathan had made her do it.

I looked over at Jonathan.

His face was completely white.

His lawyer was whispering furiously to him, but he wasn’t listening.

He was staring at me, his eyes full of hate.

The judge called a recess for lunch.

We walked out into the hallway.

Nathaniel squeezed my hand.

"We’re winning," he said.

"She just destroyed his whole case. By the time we’re done this afternoon, he’s not gonna have a leg to stand on."

I wanted to believe him.

But something felt wrong.

Jonathan was too quiet.

He hadn’t fought back.

He’d just sat there, letting Lila destroy him.

It wasn’t like him.

He always had a trick up his sleeve.

We went into the small conference room the court had given us to eat.

Nathaniel’s lawyer was going over our witnesses for the afternoon—Sarah, his ex-wife, three former employees, Dr. Hale, Maggie.

All of them were ready to testify about what kind of man Jonathan really was.

Then Nathaniel’s phone rang.

He answered, his face going pale.

He hung up, looking at me, his eyes full of fear.

"What is it?" I asked, my heart stopping.

"That was the head of security at the house," he said, his voice shaking.

"Maggie took Clara for a walk around the lake an hour ago. They haven’t come back. Her phone is off. The security team searched the whole property. No sign of them. The gates were open. The guard by the lake was found unconscious in the bushes. They think someone took them."

The room spun.

I stood up, my chair crashing to the floor.

"Clara," I whispered.

"My baby."

Jonathan.

It had to be.

He’d known he was going to lose the hearing.

So he’d taken her.

He’d taken my baby.

I ran for the door.

Nathaniel caught me, holding me back as I screamed, fought, kicked, tried to get out.

"We have to go get her!" I screamed.

"We have to go now! He has my baby! He’s gonna hurt her! Nathaniel, please! We have to go!"

Nathaniel held me tight, his own face wet with tears.

"The police are already on their way," he said.

"I’ve got every security guy I have searching every road, every town, every hotel within a hundred miles. We’re gonna find her, Grace. I swear to God. We’re gonna find our girl. And when we get our hands on Jonathan, he’s gonna pay for this. For everything."

But in my heart, I knew.

This was only the beginning.

Jonathan had nothing left to lose.