I walked into court holding my newborn son while my husband’s lawyer smiled like I was already defeated.

Marcus Vail leaned toward my husband, Evan, and whispered loud enough for me to hear, "She brought the baby for sympathy."

Evan smirked from the defense table, wearing the navy suit I used to press for his board meetings. Beside him sat his mother, Claudia, draped in pearls, and his new fiancée, Vanessa, who was brazenly wearing my wedding bracelet like a stolen trophy.

They expected me to be broken. Six days earlier, I had delivered my baby alone. Evan had refused to come to the hospital unless I signed a custody agreement granting him "temporary care" of our son until I was deemed "emotionally stable." When I refused, Marcus had slithered into my recovery room, dropping legal threats beside my IV drip.

"Judges don’t like unstable women, Lily," he had purred. "Especially unstable women with no job, no house, and a history of panic attacks."

My so-called "history" consisted of two therapy appointments I attended after Evan shoved me into a pantry door and told the doctor I had slipped. Now, they had dragged me into an emergency hearing, accusing me of kidnapping my own child, fabricating abuse, and using our son to extort money. Evan wanted full custody. Claudia wanted me permanently banned from the Reed estate. And Vanessa wanted my son raised in the nursery she had decorated while I was still pregnant.

I wore a cream cardigan specifically to hide the bruises on my shoulder. My son slept against my chest, warm and soft, entirely unaware that three adults had already tried to erase his mother.

The judge peered over his glasses. "Mrs. Reed, do you have counsel?"

Marcus’s smile widened.

"No, Your Honor," I said, my voice steady. "Not today."

Evan let out a quiet, mocking laugh. "Of course not."

I shifted my baby carefully and pulled a thick red folder from my bag. It was meticulously organized by date, marked with yellow, blue, and black tabs. I had assembled it during midnight feedings, through hospital contractions, and in the quiet weeks Evan believed I was too shattered to think clearly.

Marcus chuckled. "A plea for mercy?"