Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 58

The article drops on a Tuesday morning, and by noon, my life is on fire.

"EXCLUSIVE: Deposition Reveals Sports Psychologist's Ethical Breaches in Polyamorous Scandal"

TMZ Sports. Because of course it's TMZ Sports. The outlet that turns private pain into public entertainment, that treats people's lives like content to be consumed and discarded.

I read it on my phone while the babies eat breakfast, my coffee going cold in my hand. Someone leaked the deposition—not all of it, but the worst parts. The questions about when my relationships with Axel and Mateo began. The paperwork discrepancy. The insinuation that I was sleeping with patients while treating them.

They don't have my answers. Just the questions, framed in a way that makes me sound guilty of everything I've been accused of and more.

"Brennan pressed Marlowe on whether she engaged in sexual activity with multiple partners the same night she claims her engagement ended..."

"Records show Velasco was still listed as Marlowe's active client when she announced her pregnancy, raising serious questions about professional boundaries..."

"When asked about the nature of her 'unconventional' household, Marlowe became defensive, refusing to answer several questions about the intimate dynamics of her three-way relationship..."

Defensive. Refusing to answer. I was calm. I was measured. I answered every question professionally, drew appropriate boundaries where the law allowed. But that's not the story they want to tell.

My phone starts buzzing. Texts, calls, notifications from apps I forgot I had. I silence it. Can't deal with that right now.

"Mama?" Aria's watching me with concerned eyes. "Mama sad?"

"Mama's okay, baby." The lie comes automatically. "Eat your cereal."

Axel finds me twenty minutes later, still standing in the kitchen, still staring at my phone.

"I saw it." His voice is tight. Controlled fury. "Diane's already filing a motion about the leak. This is illegal—depositions are confidential."

"Illegal doesn't matter when the damage is already done." I finally set down the phone. "Everyone's seen it. Everyone's making judgments. By the time any legal consequences happen, the narrative is set."

"We can fight back. Make a statement—"

"And say what? 'Actually I wasn't sleeping with my patients'? Denials just keep the story alive." I lean against the counter, exhaustion hitting all at once. "This is what Cassian wanted. Not to win in court—to win in public. To destroy my reputation so thoroughly that even if I beat the lawsuit, I've still lost."

The rest of the day brings a cascade of consequences.

My supervisor calls. The organization has received "concerned inquiries" about my professional conduct. I'm not being suspended—yet—but there will be a review. Standard procedure when allegations surface.

"I understand," I tell her, even though I don't. Even though I did nothing wrong and everyone who matters knows it.

Social media is worse. I shouldn't look, but I do, because apparently I enjoy suffering. Because some masochistic part of me needs to know exactly how bad it is.

"So she was f**ing her patients? Classic. These therapists are always the crazy ones."*

"Three dads for those kids lmao what a mess. Poor babies don't stand a chance."

"I actually feel bad for Cassian. She clearly moved on before the relationship ended. Bet she was cheating the whole time."

"Imagine being those children. They're going to need so much therapy. Actually feel sorry for them."

That last one hits hardest. My children, reduced to punchlines by strangers who know nothing about our family except what TMZ told them. People making pronouncements about Aria, Elio, and Sören's futures based on headlines and assumptions and the same tired prejudices dressed up as concern.

Mateo finds me crying in the bathroom. He doesn't say anything—just sits on the floor beside me, bad knee and all, and holds my hand while I fall apart.

"They don't know us," he says when the sobs quiet. "They don't know you. They're reacting to a story someone else wrote."

"But the story is out there now. It doesn't matter if it's true."

"It matters to the people who actually know you." He squeezes my hand. "It matters to me. To Axel. To everyone who's seen you be brilliant and compassionate and fiercely protective of everyone you love. That's the real story. This other thing is just noise."

"Noise that might cost me my career."

"Then we'll figure out what comes next. Together."

Together. The word keeps coming up, keeps being offered like a lifeline. I want to grab it. I'm just not sure it's strong enough to hold.

The days that follow bring more articles, more leaked information, more strangers with opinions about my life choices. Someone digs up old photos from Philadelphia—me and Cassian at charity events, looking happy, looking normal. The contrast with my current "unconventional lifestyle" is noted repeatedly.

A sports talk show dedicates a segment to debating whether polyamorous parents should have custody of children. They don't use my name, but everyone knows who they're discussing.

The team's PR department reaches out to Axel and Mateo. They need to "manage the narrative." There will be media training. Approved statements. Careful positioning to minimize damage to the franchise.

"They want us to distance ourselves," Axel reports after the meeting. "Not publicly, but... strategically. Fewer photos together. No interviews about our personal life."

"Are you going to do it?"

"I told them no." His jaw is set. "I'm not hiding you. Not pretending we're something we're not."

"That might cost you endorsements."

"Then it costs me endorsements." He pulls me close. "I didn't build this life to abandon it the moment it becomes inconvenient."

Mateo's response to the PR team was apparently more colorful and involved several Spanish phrases they had to Google afterward. I almost smile when he tells me.

By week's end, something unexpected happens.

The tide doesn't turn—not entirely—but it shifts. Other athletes start speaking out. Not defending polyamory specifically, but defending privacy, defending the right to live your life without media vultures picking at every detail.

A prominent women's sports commentator writes an op-ed about the double standard—male athletes with multiple partners are studs, but a woman in a committed polyamorous relationship is scandalous.

Fans create a hashtag. #TeamMarlowe trends for six hours before disappearing into the internet void.

It's not vindication. It's not justice. But it's something.

"People are defending us," I tell Axel and Mateo that night, scrolling through messages of support mixed with hate. "I didn't expect that. After everything, I didn't think anyone would care."

"You've got more allies than you think." Mateo leans over my shoulder, reading along. "Look—that's Serena Williams. She liked the op-ed."

"That doesn't mean—"

"It means people see what's happening. They see Cassian weaponizing the media, and they're not okay with it." He kisses my temple. "You're not alone in this. Even strangers can see the truth."

I want to believe him. I'm trying to believe him.

But that night, I dream of depositions and headlines and my children's faces on magazine covers with cruel captions underneath. I wake up gasping, Axel's arms around me, Mateo's hand on my back.

"We're here," Axel murmurs. "Whatever comes. We're here."

Whatever comes.

The lawsuit is still pending. The review board hasn't ruled. Cassian's legal team is probably preparing their next assault.

But for now, in the dark, surrounded by the people who chose me—I can almost believe we'll survive this.

Almost.