Chapter 1
Three months after we broke up, I called my ex, Michael Jefferson.
"I'm pregnant. Do you want this baby?" I asked.
He sneered, "Don't try to use this to trap me. It's none of my business."
I went through morning sickness, prenatal checkups, and a dangerous hemorrhage during childbirth all by myself.
I raised my daughter Annie until she turned five.
I drained my savings to buy a house in a good school district, and the monthly payments were crushing me.
On the fourth day of school, Annie came home with a man in a suit following her.
She tugged at my sleeve with a serious look on her face.
She said, "Mom, this guy keeps saying he's my dad, and he's threatening to sue you for kidnapping me.
"Take a look. Should we call the police?"
I stared at Michael's face, my nails digging into my palm.
After five years, he finally remembered he had a daughter.
It was too late.
*****
I'd never forget that afternoon.
Annie's backpack strap had slipped down to her elbow, and there was an orange juice stain on her school uniform's collar. She came bouncing out of the school gate.
A man was following her.
He was dressed in a dark gray suit, his cufflinks catching the light, and his shoes were so shiny that people could see their faces in them.
He walked unhurriedly, like this rundown alley was his own backyard.
Annie ran to me and grabbed my sleeve. She didn't look scared at all. It was more like she was examining some rare creature.
Annie said, "Mom, this guy followed me the whole way.
"He says he's my dad.
"And he says he's going to sue you and take me away."
Annie tilted her head. "Should we call the cops?"
I looked past her and landed on the man's face.
It had been five years.
That man was Michael.
He looked a lot more polished than he did five years ago. His chin was clean-shaven, his sideburns perfectly trimmed.
And the watch on his wrist was expensive. The strap alone could pay my mortgage for half a year.
He looked at me, a faint smile tugging at his lips, that kind of arrogance that oozed from his bones.
"Judith, long time no see," he said.
I didn't say a word.
My mind was flooded with memories from five years ago.
That day, I was hunched over the toilet in my cramped apartment, throwing up for half an hour.
The pregnancy test showed two lines, clear as day, and my heart dropped.
I called him.
My hands were shaking, and my voice was trembling.
"Michael, I'm pregnant. Do you want this baby?" I asked.
There was a brief silence on the other end.
Then he gave a cold, dismissive laugh.
"Don't try to use this to pin it on me. It's got nothing to do with me. That's your problem," he said.
Beep. The line went dead.
I stood there, phone in hand, my fingers white from gripping it hard. It took me ages to pull myself together.
From then on, I was on my own.
I suffered from morning sickness, did prenatal checkups, signed all the paperwork, scraped together money, and searched for an affordable maternity hospital.
When the day came, I hemorrhaged badly. The nurse kept yelling in my ear, "Stay awake. Don't fall asleep!"
I bit down on my lip so hard that I could taste blood.
That was the moment Annie came into the world.
She weighed just four pounds, wrinkled like a little old lady, and her cry was barely louder than a kitten's mew.
The nurse asked, "Where's the father? We need his signature."
"No father. I'll sign," I said.
"Judith?" Michael called out again.
I snapped back to reality.
He pulled a manila envelope from his suit pocket and handed it to me.
"This is a legal notice. I want us to have a serious conversation about Annie's custody," he said.
I didn't take it.
Annie beat me to it. She marched up and planted herself in front of me, tilted her chin up, and shot him a glare.
"I don't have a dad," she said. "You've got the wrong person."
Michael's smile froze for a second.
He crouched down, reaching out, aiming for Annie's head.
Annie stepped back and planted her foot on the tip of his shiny shoe.
"Don't touch me," she said.
Michael's brow furrowed. He stood up, his gaze shifting to me.
He said coldly, "Judith, she's my daughter. I have every right to be here.
"You hired a lawyer? So did I. If I don't hear from you by Friday, we'll settle this in court."
He dropped the envelope on the step at my feet, then turned and got into the black Porsche parked by the curb.
The car drove off.
Annie picked up the envelope and flipped it around in her hands. "Mom, is this guy out of his mind?
"He disappears for five years and then suddenly shows up out of the blue, claiming he's my dad?
"Even scammers try harder than he does."
I pulled her into my arms, resting my chin on top of her head.
My fingers were trembling.
It wasn't fear.
It was anger.
It had been five years.
Michael thought he could walk in and out of Annie's life whenever he wanted.
Annie was my daughter. He didn't have the right to suddenly show up and try to take her away from me.
Over the next three days, one thing after another hit me like a ton of bricks.
I was freelancing at a design studio, drawing up blueprints to cover my mortgage.
On Monday, a client I'd worked with for two years suddenly texted me: [Budget adjustment. Project paused.]
I could deal with one project being paused.
But three clients, all on the same day, all said the same thing.
I gripped my phone, a chill running down my spine.
The second call was from the bank.
The bank manager said, "Hello, Ms. Murphy. There's an unusual review on your loan account. You may need to come to the counter in person to provide additional documents."
I'd made seven trips to the bank to get the loan, and every document was in perfect order. I wondered what 'unusual review' they were talking about.
The third call came in.
It was Annie's homeroom teacher. "Ms. Murphy, a man came to the school at noon today, claiming to be Annie's father and wanting to pick her up.
"We didn't let him take her, but we wanted to check with you first."
I hung up, grabbed my car keys, and rushed straight to the school.
When I got to the school gate, a black SUV was parked across the street. The driver rolled down the window and gave me a once-over.
I walked over and knocked on the roof of the SUV.
"Who sent you?" I asked.
The driver pulled out some official-looking document with Michael's signature and what he claimed was "proof" he was Annie's father.
"Mr. Peterson asked me to pick up the little girl," the driver said.
I snatched the paper from him, tore it in half, and shoved it back into his hand.
"Go tell Michael that if he comes near my daughter's school again, I'm calling the cops." I fumed.
The driver said nothing, rolled up the window, and drove away.
I stood at the school gate, the sun burning my neck, my palms slick with sweat.
When I got home that night, Annie was already asleep.
I sat on the living room floor, going over everything that had happened in the past three days.
All my clients canceled the work at the same time.
The bank suddenly started reviewing my loan.
Someone tried to pick up Annie from school.
This wasn't a coincidence.
Someone was systematically tightening the noose around me.
Five years ago, Michael was a broke student. I was curious where he got the power to pull all this off.
I pulled out my phone and searched for his name.
The first result popped up: [Michael Jefferson, Vice President of the Goodwin Group, spotted at some business forum.]
In the photo, he stood next to a middle-aged man dressed in a sharp suit, with a perfectly composed smile.
The middle-aged man was Howard Goodwin, the chairman of the Goodwin Group.
Michael married Howard's daughter and landed himself in the lap of luxury.