Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 45

Three weeks of peace.

That's what we get. Three weeks of normal—of morning routines and bedtime stories and Mateo burning pancakes on Sundays while Axel pretends not to find it endearing. Three weeks of the babies learning new words, of Sören saying "no" to everything with the conviction of a tiny dictator, of Aria demanding "up" with imperial authority, of Elio perfecting his "Teo" until Mateo tears up every single time.

Three weeks of lazy Saturday mornings. Of tangled sheets and coffee in bed. Of arguments about whose turn it is to change diapers that end in laughter instead of resentment.

Three weeks of believing we made it through.

Derek's gone—traded to a bottom-feeder team where his attitude problems can be someone else's concern. The investigation into his behavior resulted in a formal reprimand for the agent who facilitated his trade, a strongly worded letter from the league to Cassian's management about "coordinated harassment," and a quiet apology from our front office for not vetting more carefully.

I keep the apology email saved. Proof that I was right. Proof that I won.

The strain that lived in my shoulders for weeks has finally been released. I sleep through the night again. I laugh at Mateo's terrible jokes without forcing it. I let Axel hold me without waiting for the next crisis.

We found our groove. All three of us, plus three tiny humans who have no idea how hard we fought to give them this life.

So of course that's when the envelope arrives.

It's a Tuesday. Unremarkable in every way. I'm working from home while the babies nap, catching up on case notes and documentation. The doorbell rings—delivery driver with a certified letter requiring signature.

I sign without thinking. Assume it's something about the house, maybe insurance paperwork, the kind of adult mail that multiplies when you own property.

Then I see the return address. A law firm in Philadelphia. Whitmore, Kessler & Associates.

My stomach drops.

I stand in the foyer holding the envelope like it might explode. The house is quiet around me—the baby monitor showing three sleeping forms, the hum of the refrigerator, traffic noise from the street. Normal sounds that suddenly feel fragile.

I open it.

The letterhead is expensive. The language is precise. Legal terminology that I have to read three times before the meaning penetrates.

Cassian Drummond is suing me.

Suing us.

For paternity rights. For defamation. For "alienation of affection" naming Axel and Mateo as co-defendants.

He's claiming a "secret reconciliation" occurred two weeks after the birthday incident. Claiming we met at his apartment to "discuss our relationship," and that meeting resulted in the conception of the children. Claiming the triplets are his, and I've been lying to the public, to the league, to everyone about their parentage.

He's demanding court-ordered DNA testing.

He's demanding custody consideration.

He's demanding his name on their birth certificates.

The pages blur. I realize I'm crying only when a tear hits the paper, smearing the ink of his signature.

This isn't real. This can't be real. I know exactly where I was two weeks after his birthday—on my sister's couch, crying into cheap wine, trying to decide whether to keep the pregnancy at all. I never went back to his apartment. Never considered reconciliation for even a second. The thought of touching him again made me physically ill.

But he's claiming I did. Under oath. With a team of lawyers billing hundreds of dollars an hour to make his lies sound credible.

From the nursery, I hear Aria stir. A small sound, then silence as she settles back to sleep. My daughter. My child. The baby I carried and birthed and raised for thirteen months without him. Without any of his help, his support, his interest.

Now he wants her. Wants all of them. Wants to use my children as weapons because I embarrassed him publicly.

I find myself in the kitchen without remembering walking there. Sitting at the table with the lawsuit spread in front of me, reading it again and again, searching for the weakness, the lie I can disprove, the thing that will make this go away.

There's nothing. It's all carefully constructed. Vague enough to avoid provable falsehood, specific enough to create doubt. His word against mine about a private meeting with no witnesses.

My phone buzzes. Text from Mateo: Practice running late. Axel says hi. Need anything from the store?

I stare at the message. Need anything from the store. Like that's the kind of problem I have right now. Like our biggest concern is whether we're out of milk.

I should tell them. Should call immediately, pull them out of practice, explain that the war we thought we won was just a skirmish. That Cassian wasn't satisfied with sending Derek. That he's coming for our family with everything he has.

Instead I type: We're good. See you tonight.

I don't know why I lie. Maybe I want to protect them from knowing for a few more hours. Maybe I want to process it alone before I have to manage their reactions. Maybe I just need to sit with this horror by myself before it becomes ours to share.

The babies wake up at their usual time. I go through the motions—diaper changes, snacks, playtime in the living room. Aria stacks blocks and knocks them down. Elio tries to eat a toy car. Sören watches his siblings with that calculating gaze that always makes me think he's planning something.

They don't know any of the actual problems. They just know that Mama seems sad today, that her hugs last a little longer, that she keeps looking at them like she's memorizing their faces.

"Mama sad?" Aria asks, patting my cheek with sticky fingers.

"Mama's okay, baby." Another lie. I'm getting good at those. "Mama just loves you very much."

"Love Mama," she says, and wraps her tiny arms around my neck.

I hold her until she squirms away to rejoin her brothers. Hold the memory of her weight against me, her small heartbeat, her complete trust that I'll keep her safe.

Cassian wants to take this from me. Wants to waltz in after two years of nothing and claim he has rights to children he's never met, never held, never gotten up with at 3 AM when they were sick and screaming.

He wants a war.

Fine.

I've been fighting wars since the night I walked in on him with someone else. Since I stood in that bathroom deciding whether to end my career or my silence. Since I built a new life from the wreckage of the old one and dared to believe I deserved happiness.

He doesn't know what I'm capable of. He thinks I'm the woman who ran away, who couldn't handle confrontation, who needed to be rescued by other people.

He's about to find out how wrong he is.

Axel and Mateo get home at six. I hear their voices in the garage, Mateo's laugh at something, the normal sounds of their return. I meet them at the door with the lawsuit in my hand and steel in my spine.

"We need to talk," I say. "Cassian's making his move."

The past wasn't done with us.

It had just been waiting.