I’m 7 months pregnant. I have been with Remy for 2 years and 4 months. I have never cheated on him. I have never even thought about cheating on him. And 4 days ago at his family’s 4th of July BBQ in front of roughly 50 people, including his parents, his aunts and uncles, his cousins, his friends, and people I don’t even recognize, he stood up with a beer in his hand and announced that he was finally going to get a DNA test because he’s tired of wondering if this baby is even his since I’m that type of girl.

I’m sitting here in my childhood bedroom at my parents house trying to figure out how my life went from planning a nursery to this.

Let me back up because I know how Reddit works and y’all need the full picture.

I met Remy at a friend’s birthday thing about 2 and 1/2 years ago. Freya, who I’ve known since middle school, was turning 28 and rented out a section of this bar downtown. Remy was there because he knew Freya’s boyfriend, Bradford, through some recreational sports league they both played in. We talked most of the night. He was funny. He was cute. He remembered details about things I said, which felt rare because most guys I’d dated before him had the listening skills of a brick wall.

We exchanged numbers, started texting. First date was 2 weeks later.

For the first year and a half, things were genuinely good. Like I found my person good. He met my parents around the 6-month mark. I met his family around the same time. His mom, Valerie, was always a little cold toward me, but Remy said she was like that with everyone, so I didn’t take it personally. His dad, Franklin, was nice enough, kind of quiet, stayed in the background. His younger sister, Chelsea, was 23, and honestly, we got along fine. She’d comment on my Instagram posts. We’d chat at family dinners. Nothing deep but friendly.

Remy and I moved in together about 14 months into dating. Got a two-bedroom apartment in a decent area, split rent, started building a life. I thought we were solid. I thought we were headed toward engagement. He’d made comments about rings, about wanting kids someday, about seeing a future with me, all the things you want to hear.

Then I got pregnant. It wasn’t planned. I was on birth control, but apparently I’m one of the lucky statistics because here I am growing a whole human.

When I told Remy, he was shocked at first, which I expected. We sat on the couch and he just stared at the wall for like 10 minutes. Then he said,

“Okay, we can do this. We’ll figure it out.”

And for a few weeks, he seemed genuinely excited. Started looking at cribs online, talked about names, told his family before I was even ready because he was so hyped about it.

But then something shifted.

It started around month three. Little comments here and there. We’d be out somewhere and he’d ask who I was texting. I’d show him my phone, no problem, nothing to hide, and he’d kind of nod, but this look would stay on his face. He started asking about my day in this way that felt less like interest and more like interrogation. Where did you go? Who did you see? What time did you get home? Why didn’t you answer my text for 40 minutes?

I told myself it was just anxiety about becoming a dad. First time parent jitters or whatever. I tried to be patient. I tried to be reassuring. I literally offered him access to my location on my phone, which he accepted. And I thought,

“Okay, if this makes him feel better, then fine.”

It did not make him feel better.

Around month four is when I found out about the group chat. Remy has this friend group, about eight guys he’s known since high school, plus a few others who got absorbed over the years. They have a group chat called The Boys that I knew about because obviously I’d seen it pop up on his phone a million times. Sports stuff, weekend plans, stupid memes, whatever.

One night, Remy fell asleep on the couch with his phone unlocked on his chest. I wasn’t snooping. I literally just moved his phone to the coffee table so it wouldn’t fall and crack. But as I picked it up, a message came through from his friend Justin that said,

“Bro, any updates on the situation?”

And I don’t know why, but something in my gut just knew. I stood there for probably two full minutes trying to decide what to do. This is the father of my child. This is the man I live with. This is someone I trusted completely.

And I opened the chat.

What I found made me sit down on the floor because my leg stopped working. There was an entire thread from about 3 weeks prior where Remy had told all 15 guys in that chat that he was pretty sure I cheated on him and the baby probably wasn’t his. He said I was that type of girl, which I still don’t know what that means because I have literally never given him any reason to think that. He said he noticed I’d been acting different since getting pregnant. He said I was too calm about the whole thing, which apparently meant I was hiding something.

And then and then these 15 guys, including his brother Hank, who I’d had dinner with multiple times, had created a poll, an actual poll titled who she really slept with, with options including Remy’s own brother. Three of my male co-workers whose names Remy apparently knew from me mentioning them in passing. Some guy named Harold who I literally had to think for five minutes to remember was a friend’s husband I’d met once at a game night and an option that just said random Tinder hookup.

15 guys voted 15. Some voted multiple times as a joke. There were comments like my money’s on the co-orker office affairs or classic and nah Hank definitely hit that which Hank himself responded to with a bunch of laughing emojis and y’all are wild but I wouldn’t put it past her. his own brother joking about supposedly sleeping with me, participating in a poll about the paternity of my baby like it was fantasy football.

I sat on that floor until my legs went numb. Remy was still asleep, snoring actually, which felt like such a slap in the face. Him sleeping peacefully while I discovered that he’d been telling everyone I know that I’m a cheater and a liar.

When I woke him up, he immediately knew something was wrong because apparently my face was doing something scary. I asked him straight up what the group chat was about. He tried to grab his phone first, which told me everything. And when I held it away from him, he started with the excuses. He said it wasn’t serious. He said they were just joking around. He said,

“Guys talk like that.”

And I wouldn’t understand.

I asked him if he genuinely believed this baby wasn’t his, and he couldn’t look at me. He literally turned his head and stared at the TV, which wasn’t even on. I asked him again. He said he didn’t know, that something just felt off, that I’d been weird lately, that he had a right to his feelings.

I asked him what specific thing I had done to make him think I cheated. Give me one example, one piece of evidence, one moment that made him suspicious. He couldn’t answer. He just kept saying it was a feeling, a vibe that I would never understand because I’m not in his position.

We fought until 3:00 a.m. I was crying, he was defensive, nothing got resolved. He kept saying I was overreacting, that if I hadn’t snooped, I wouldn’t have found it. That I violated his privacy by reading his messages. I pointed out that his messages were about me, about our baby, about accusing me of cheating. And he said that didn’t matter because I still shouldn’t have looked.

The next few weeks were hell. I thought about leaving, but I was 5 months pregnant and exhausted, and part of me kept hoping we could work through it. Remy apologized eventually, said he’d talked to his friends, said he’d shut down the chat. I asked if he actually believed me that I never cheated, and he said yes, he believed me. He was just stressed about becoming a dad, and his brain went somewhere dark. I wanted to believe him. I really did.

So, I tried. Things were tense, but we were trying. We went to one couple’s counseling session, which was awkward, but felt like progress. He started being more affectionate again. He came to an ultrasound appointment and held my hand and I thought,

“Okay, maybe we’re going to be okay.”

Then the 4th of July happened.

Remy’s family does a huge BBQ every year at his parents house. They have this big backyard with a pool and his mom goes all out with decorations and food. I’ve been to three of them now. Last year was actually fun. We played cornhole and his uncle told embarrassing stories about Remy as a kid, and I felt genuinely included.

This year, Valerie barely looked at me when we arrived. I noticed, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to start drama. Chelsea was weird, too. Kept looking at me and then whispering to her friends. I told myself I was being paranoid, that the group chat situation had made me see threats everywhere.

About 2 hours in, after most people had eaten and were scattered around the yard, drinking and talking, Remy stood up on the back porch steps like he was about to give a toast. Someone whistled. People gathered around expecting some kind of speech. He had a beer in his hand and this look on his face that I didn’t recognize. He said he had an announcement. He said he’d been doing a lot of thinking lately about honesty and family and what it means to be a man. He said he wasn’t going to let anyone make a fool out of him or trap him into something that wasn’t real.

And then he looked directly at me standing there in my maternity dress with my seven-month belly surrounded by 50 people who were now all staring at me too. And he said he was getting a DNA test as soon as the baby was born because he deserved to know the truth about whether this kid is even his since everyone knows I’m that type of girl.

The silence lasted maybe 2 seconds before his mom Valerie stood up from her lawn chair, walked over to him and hugged him. She hugged him and she said loud enough for everyone to hear that she was so proud of him for standing up for himself and not letting me trap him like his father got trapped. I didn’t even understand what that meant at first. Franklin, his dad, was standing by the grill and his face went completely blank. Nobody explained, nobody asked.

Then Remy’s drunk uncle started slow clapping. Actually, slow clapping like this was a movie and a few people joined in. Not everyone, but enough. enough people clapping for my boyfriend announcing to the world that I’m a cheater and a liar and our baby might not be his.

I couldn’t move. I literally could not make my legs work. I just stood there with my hands on my belly while people stared and whispered and some of them clapped. And Remy stood on those steps looking satisfied, looking proud like he’d done something brave. Chelsea had her phone out filming. She told someone next to her she was getting this for the family group chat. Getting my face, my reaction, my humiliation for the family group chat.

I finally managed to turn around and walk toward the house because I needed to get away. I needed to find my keys and leave.

But three of Remy’s friends had come in through the back door and they cornered me in the kitchen. Justin, this guy named Bradford, who I’d actually thought was decent, and someone else whose name I don’t even know. They stood between me and the door and started calling me names, everything you can imagine. They said I was disgusting. They said I ruined Remy’s life. They said everyone knew what I was and it was only a matter of time before I got exposed. I kept trying to get past them and they wouldn’t move. just kept talking, kept calling me names, and I could hear their girlfriends laughing in the hallway, actually laughing. Like, this was entertainment.

I finally pushed past Bradford and ran to the front door. My hands were shaking so bad I dropped my keys twice. I got to my car and drove to my parents house, which is about 20 minutes away, and I don’t really remember the drive. I just remember arriving and my mom opening the door and me collapsing into her.

33 unread messages from Remy. The first few were angry, saying I embarrassed him by leaving, saying I proved his point by running away. Then they shifted to confused, asking why I wasn’t responding, then desperate. Please just answer. We didn’t mean it. I need to talk to you over and over, mixed with calls I keep sending to voicemail.

His mom has texted me twice. The first one said I should be ashamed of myself for lying to her son. The second one sent yesterday said,

“I need to stop being dramatic and come talk this out like an adult.”

Chelsea posted something on her Instagram story that was clearly about me. Something about snakes and karma and how the truth always comes out.

I’m 7 months pregnant. I have never cheated. I have literally offered this man every password, every location, every piece of access to my entire life. And he still stood in front of 50 people and called me a liar. His family clapped. His friends cornered me. Someone destroyed my car. And now he wants me to answer his text like nothing happened.

I don’t even know what I’m asking for here. I just needed to tell someone. I needed to write it out because every time I try to say it out loud, I start crying and can’t finish. My parents are being amazing, but I can see how worried they are and I don’t want to keep dumping this on them. My friends are furious and keep telling me to never speak to him again, but I’m having his baby in 2 months and I don’t know how to never speak to him again when we’re going to share a child.

What do I even do? How do I respond to 33 messages from someone who humiliated me in front of everyone he knows? How do I co-parent with a man whose mother thinks I’m a trap? How do I explain to my child someday why their father announced to 50 people that they might not be his?

I’m just so tired and so pregnant and so confused about how I got here.

Update: A lot of people are asking if I know what Valerie meant about Franklin being trapped. I don’t. Remy never mentioned anything about his dad and I’ve never asked because it seemed like family stuff that wasn’t my business. But after reading these comments, I’m realizing there’s probably a lot about this family I don’t know.

Also, someone asked about the co-workers whose names were in the poll. Yes, I work with men. Yes, I’ve mentioned them to Remy in passing like a normal person talks about their day. No, nothing has ever happened with any of them. One of them, this guy named Harold, is literally married with three kids, and we’ve maybe had 10 conversations total in the two years I’ve worked there. The fact that Remy turned that into evidence of an affair is insane.

I’ll update if anything changes right now. I’m just trying to breathe.

Update. So, it’s been 5 days since my original post and I genuinely don’t even know where to start because so much has happened and I’ve been trying to process it all while also being 7 and 1/2 months pregnant and exhausted and emotional and just absolutely done with everything.

First of all, thank you to everyone who commented and messaged me. I read every single one. Some of you made me cry in the good way. Some of you made me laugh when I desperately needed it. And a few of you gave me advice that I actually ended up using. Shout out to the person who said I needed to stop letting Remy control the narrative because that comment lived in my head rentree for 3 days and honestly changed how I approached everything that came after.

Okay, let me tell you what happened after I posted. I had this moment where I was lying in my childhood bedroom staring at the ceiling and I realized I had two choices. I could keep hiding at my parents house, ignoring Remy’s messages and letting him spin whatever story he wanted to his family and friends, or I could actually face this head-on and force him to explain himself to my face, not over text, where he could craft his responses and manipulate the conversation face to face, where I could see his expressions and call him out in real time.

So, I texted him back, just one message. I said I would meet him to talk, but it had to be somewhere neutral, and I was bringing my mom. He immediately started calling, like within 30 seconds of me sending that text, but I didn’t answer. I just texted again and said if he couldn’t agree to those terms, then we had nothing to discuss.

He agreed reluctantly. He tried to negotiate for it to be just us. Said we didn’t need my mom involved. Said this was between him and me. I told him that he made it everyone’s business when he announced it to 50 people. So, he didn’t get to decide who was involved anymore.

He didn’t respond for like 2 hours after that, but eventually said fine, we could meet at this diner near my parents house.

The meeting was 3 days ago, a Saturday afternoon. My mom and I got there first and sat in a booth near the back. I was so nervous I thought I might throw up, which honestly might have just been pregnancy nausea, but the timing was suspicious. My mom kept her hand on mine under the table and told me to remember that I hadn’t done anything wrong and I didn’t owe him any apologies or explanations.

Remy showed up about 10 minutes late, which felt intentional, like he wanted to make us wait. He started talking before I could even say anything, going on about how I ran away, how I left him there looking stupid, how I never gave him a chance to explain. My mom’s grip on my hand tightened and I could tell she was holding herself back from saying something. I let him finish his little speech about how hurt he was.

And then I asked him one simple question. I asked him to explain to me right now face to face what evidence he had that I ever cheated on him. Not feelings, not vibes, actual evidence.

He started fidgeting with the sugar packets on the table. Couldn’t look me in the eyes and said it wasn’t about evidence, it was about patterns. I asked what patterns. He said I’d been distant since getting pregnant. I pointed out that I’d been exhausted and nauseous and growing a human inside my body, which tends to change a person’s energy levels. He said I was always on my phone. I reminded him that I’d literally given him access to my location and offered him my passwords and he knew exactly who I was talking to at all times. He said it wasn’t about what he could prove. It was about what he felt.

And I just stared at him because this man has been telling everyone I know that I’m a cheater and his justification is that he felt like something was off.

My mom finally spoke up and asked him if he understood what he’d done. Not just the accusation itself, but the way he did it, the public humiliation, the family involvement, the group chat pole. She asked if he had any idea what it was like for me to stand there in front of 50 people and be called a liar while his mother celebrated.

Remy’s face did this thing where I could see him trying to come up with a defense and failing. He said his mom was just being supportive. My mom laughed, not in a funny way, more like a disbelief way, and asked if that was what he called supportive. publicly humiliating the mother of your grandchild was supportive now.

He got defensive after that, started raising his voice a little, saying we didn’t understand his family, that they’d been through things, that his mom had reasons to be protective of him. I asked what reasons. He got quiet, so I pushed. I asked him what his mom meant when she said she was proud of him for not letting me trap him like his father got trapped. I asked what that was about. I asked why Franklin looked like he wanted to disappear when she said it.

Remy didn’t want to answer at first. kept saying it was family stuff, that it wasn’t relevant, that I was deflecting from the real issue. I told him,

“No, actually, this is the real issue because his mother clearly has some kind of history that’s making her project onto me, and if I’m going to be accused of trapping him, then I deserve to know where that accusation is coming from,”

he finally told me.

Apparently, when Valerie and Franklin got married, she was already pregnant with Remy. She’d been convinced Franklin was going to leave her, and she’d gotten pregnant on purpose to keep him. her words. According to Remy, she’d admitted it years ago during some family fight, and it had been this unspoken thing ever since. Franklin stayed because he felt obligated, not because he wanted to. And their marriage has apparently been miserable for decades. Remy grew up watching his parents barely tolerate each other, and his mom always told him to be careful that women would try to trap him the same way she trapped his dad.

Let me just pause here because what? This woman has been projecting her own actions onto me this entire time. She baby trapped Franklin. She manipulated her way into a marriage. And because of that, she’s been poisoning Remy’s mind against me since day one. Convinced that I must be doing the same thing she did, because apparently that’s just what women do in her worldview.

I asked Remy if his mom had said specific things about me. He tried to minimize it, but eventually admitted that yeah, she’d been making comments since I got pregnant. Things like how convenient it was that I got pregnant right when we were talking about getting more serious. Things like how she’d seen girls like me before and I had an agenda. Things like how Remy should protect himself before it was too late.

And here’s the thing that makes me want to scream into a pillow forever. Remy believed her. He let his mother, who he knows trapped his own father, convince him that I was doing the same thing. He never stopped to think,

“Hey, maybe my mom has some issues around this topic. Maybe I shouldn’t take her word as gospel when it comes to whether my girlfriend is trustworthy.”

My mom asked him straight up if he thought she’d raised a liar. If he thought I’d been brought up to manipulate and deceive, he said no, he didn’t think that. He just got confused because there were voices in his ear telling him different things. My mom told him that those voices were his choice to listen to, that he was a grown man who made the decision to believe gossip and projection over the woman carrying his child.

He started getting emotional at that point, saying he messed up. He knew he messed up. He didn’t know how to fix it. I asked him if he actually believed now that I never cheated. He said yes. I asked him why. He said because looking at me, seeing how hurt I was, he knew I wouldn’t fake that. I could have thrown my drink in his face honestly because he needed to see me destroyed to believe I was telling the truth.

I asked about the group chat, about the poll, about his friends calling me names in the kitchen while their girlfriends laughed. He said he’d already talked to them. Told them it was a misunderstanding. Told them to back off. I asked if any of them had apologized to me. He didn’t answer, which was an answer.

I asked about Hank, his own brother, who participated in a poll about sleeping with me, who made jokes about hitting that, who voted like it was a game. Remy said Hank felt bad about it, that it was just guy humor that went too far.

I told him there was nothing funny about accusing the mother of your brother’s child of cheating. Nothing funny about voting on which man she supposedly slept with. That was sick behavior from supposedly grown adults.

He kept trying to explain, kept trying to make me understand the context. Kept saying things got out of hand, but nobody really meant it. And I told him that was exactly the problem. He never meant any of it, but he still did all of it. He never really thought I cheated, but he still told everyone I did. He never wanted to hurt me, but he stood on those steps and publicly destroyed me anyway.

At some point, I asked him what he thought happened now. Did he think I was going to come back to the apartment and play house after all this? He said he hoped we could work through it, that we were having a baby together, that he’d do whatever it took to earn back my trust.

I asked if he was willing to stand up at the next family gathering and announced that he was wrong, that I never cheated, that his accusations were baseless and cruel, that everyone who participated in humiliating me owed me an apology.

His face went pale. He started saying maybe they could just let it blow over, that making another scene would be awkward, that people would move on and forget.

I told him absolutely not. I told him he didn’t get to publicly accuse me and then privately apologize. If he wanted any chance of us co-parenting in a healthy way, let alone having any kind of relationship, then he needed to correct the record with the same energy he used to destroy it. His family needed to know the truth. His friends needed to know. Everyone at that BBQ needed to know that they clapped for a lie.

He said he’d think about it, which in Remy language means he doesn’t want to do it, but knows he can’t say no outright.

We left the diner with nothing resolved. He tried to hug me and I stepped back. He looked hurt by that, which is almost funny in a tragic way. This man destroyed my reputation and my car and my sense of safety and he’s hurt that I won’t hug him.

Now, here’s where it gets even messier.

Chelsea, his sister, apparently saw my original Reddit post. I don’t know how. Maybe someone sent it to her, or maybe she just spends enough time on relationship subreddits that she stumbled across it, but she recognized the story immediately and figured out it was me.

She texted me two days ago not to apologize for filming my face at the BBQ. Not to say she was sorry for her Instagram posts about snakes and karma. She texted me to say I had no right to air family business on the internet and that I was making everything worse by seeking attention from strangers instead of handling things privately.

I did not respond nicely. I told her she was the one who filmed me being humiliated and posted about me on social media first. I told her she didn’t get to talk to me about privacy when she violated mine for content. I told her the only reason I posted on Reddit was because her family gave me no one else to turn to and I needed support from somewhere.

She sent back a whole paragraph about how I was playing the victim. How I probably did cheat and was just good at covering my tracks. How Remy deserved better than someone who runs to the internet for sympathy.

I screenshotted all of it and sent it to Remy with a message that said,

“This is your sister. This is your family and you want me to believe they’ll ever accept me or my child?”

He called me immediately after that, but I let it go to voicemail. His message was him saying he’d talked to Chelsea, that she was just being protective, that the whole family was on edge right now. Always an excuse, always a reason why their behavior is justified and mine isn’t.

Here’s what I’ve decided. I’m going to get my own DNA test done the moment this baby is born. Not because Remy wants one, but because I want proof that I can hold up forever. I want documentation that this child is his, so that when he tries to rewrite history later, when his family tries to claim I trapped him or lied or cheated, I have undeniable evidence. And I’m going to make sure everyone sees those results. The same 50 people who watched him accuse me are going to watch me be vindicated.

But I’m not doing it for him. I’m not doing it to win him back or save our relationship. I’m doing it for me and for my baby so that someday when my child is old enough to ask questions, I can show them exactly what happened and exactly what the truth is.

Freya came over yesterday and we just sat together for hours. She felt guilty because she’s the one who introduced me to Remy, but I told her she couldn’t have known. Nobody could have known that his family was this toxic or that he’d crumble under their pressure.

I’m due in less than 2 months. I should be setting up a nursery and packing a hospital bag and feeling excited about meeting my baby. Instead, I’m strategizing about DNA tests and legal options and how to protect myself from a family that’s already decided I’m the villain.

Remy keeps texting asking when we can talk again. He says he wants to be at the birth. He says he wants to be involved, but he still hasn’t corrected anything publicly. He still hasn’t made his family apologize. He still hasn’t done a single thing to actually fix what he broke.

I don’t know what happens next. I’m taking it one day at a time, which is all I can really do. I’ll update again when there’s more to tell.

Also, to the person who asked if I’ve considered that Remy might be projecting his own guilt onto me. Like, maybe he cheated and is accusing me to cover it. I honestly hadn’t thought about that until you mentioned it, and now I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t have any evidence that he cheated, but I also didn’t have any evidence that I cheated and look how that turned out for me.

More updates to come. Send good vibes because this baby is kicking my ribs constantly and I think she knows her mom is stressed.

Last update. Okay, Reddit, this is it, the final update. And I need to warn you right now that this got messy. Like way messier than I ever expected. I’ve been sitting on this for almost two weeks because I genuinely didn’t know how to process everything that happened, let alone type it out for strangers on the internet. But you all have been with me through this nightmare, so you deserve to know how it ended.

First, the good news. I had my baby, a perfect little girl, 6 lb 11 oz, named Ada. She’s currently asleep on my chest making tiny snoring sounds, and she is the only good thing to come out of this entire disaster. I love her so much it physically hurts.

Now, let me tell you about the absolute circus that led up to her arrival.

After my last update, Remy kept texting every single day. How was I feeling? Did I need anything? Could he come to the next appointment? All this attentive boyfriend behavior that would have meant something if he’d bothered to do literally anything I’d actually asked for. He still hadn’t corrected anything publicly. Still hadn’t made his family apologize. Still thought he could nice guy his way back into my good graces without doing any of the hard work.

About 10 days after the diner meeting, he texted saying his mom wanted to meet with me, just her and me, to clear the air before the baby came. I laughed so hard I almost peed myself, which at 8 months pregnant is a real risk. This woman who hugged him while he accused me of being a cheater, who made that comment about not letting me trap him, who has spent months poisoning his brain against me, and now she wanted to clear the air like we were having some minor disagreement about wedding centerpieces.

I told Remy,

“Absolutely not.”

He pushed back, said I was being difficult, said his mom was extending an olive branch and I should be grateful. grateful for the opportunity to sit across from the woman who orchestrated my public humiliation.

I told him the only way I’d meet with Valerie was if he was there. My mom was there and it was somewhere public where she couldn’t pull any more stunts. He agreed, but I could tell he thought I was being dramatic.

The meeting happened at a restaurant near my parents place about a week before my due date. Valerie showed up looking like she was attending Sunday service. This prissy floral blouse, full makeup, pearls. My mom took one look at her and I saw her jaw tighten. She’d been waiting for this.

The first few minutes were painfully awkward. Valerie kept rearranging things on the table, adjusting her water glass, smoothing her napkin. Finally, my mom just went for it. Asked Valerie directly what evidence she had that I’d ever cheated on her son.

Valerie started with the usual nonsense. Intuition, mother’s instinct, something about how I seemed too confident about the pregnancy. My mom asked what that even meant. Valerie said,

“Women who trap men are usually very calm because they’ve planned the whole thing. Real mothers are nervous and scared.”

I literally could not believe what I was hearing. This woman was saying I wasn’t scared enough about becoming a first-time mom, so therefore I must be lying about paternity. The logic was so twisted, I didn’t even know where to start.

My mom did, though. She asked Valerie if the real reason she was so convinced I’d trapped Remy was because that’s exactly what she did to Franklin. The table went dead silent. Remy looked like he wanted to crawl under the floor. Valerie’s face did this thing where I watched about six different emotions flash across it in 2 seconds. shock, anger, fear, and then this cold, hard defensiveness that honestly scared me a little.

She asked Remy if he’d told us about that. He admitted he had, and I watched something shift in her eyes when she looked at him, like he betrayed her by telling the truth about her own actions.

Then she turned to me and said something I will never forget as long as I live. She said I might have fooled everyone else, but she knew exactly what I was, that women like me were everywhere, looking for men to latch on to, getting pregnant on purpose to secure our futures. She said she’d watched me at family dinners, seen how I looked at Remy like he was a meal ticket, seen how I conveniently got pregnant right when things were getting serious.

My mom started to respond, but I held up my hand because no, this was my moment. I told Valerie that the only person at this table who’d admitted to trapping a man was her. That she’d spent 30 years in a miserable marriage because she manipulated someone into staying. That she’d projected her own guilt onto me since day one because she couldn’t handle the fact that not every woman operates the way she does. and that if she wanted to talk about women who latched on to men for security, she should take a long hard look in the mirror.

Valerie’s face went red. Not embarrassed, Red. Furious Red. She turned to Remy and demanded he defend her. Demanded he tell me I couldn’t speak to his mother that way. Demanded he choose right then and there whose side he was on.

And Remy, for maybe the first time in his entire life, didn’t immediately fold. He told his mom that she’d been out of line, that she’d encouraged his suspicions when she should have helped him think clearly, that he’d humiliated the mother of his child in front of everyone they knew because he’d listened to her instead of trusting me.

Valerie looked at him like he’d physically hit her. She stood up from the table and told him that when this all fell apart, when I took his money and his child and disappeared, he shouldn’t come crying to her because she’d warned him. Then she grabbed her purse and walked out of the restaurant without looking back.

Remy sat there for a long moment just staring at the door his mother had gone through. Then he said he was sorry again, like that word meant anything anymore.

I told him sorry wasn’t going to cut it. That his mother had just made it crystal clear she would never accept me or my child. That the family he kept promising would come around was actively hostile toward us. And that he needed to figure out what that meant for his future because I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life fighting for basic respect from people who’d already decided I was the enemy.

He didn’t have an answer for that.

We left the restaurant and I didn’t hear from him for 2 days.

Then I went into labor. It was a Wednesday morning about 4:00 a.m. I woke up with contractions that felt different from the practice ones I’d been having. My mom drove me to the hospital and I texted Remy from the car because regardless of everything, he was still this baby’s father and he had a right to be there. He showed up within an hour looking like he’d run every red light between his apartment and the hospital.

The labor was long and hard, and I don’t want to get into all the details, but let me just say there were about 14 hours where I genuinely thought I might not survive this. My mom was on one side, Remy was on the other, and at some point, I stopped caring about the drama and just focused on getting through each contraction.

When Ada finally arrived and they put her on my chest, everything else faded away. She was so tiny and perfect and loud, screaming her little head off like she was already mad at the world. I looked at Remy and he was crying, full-on sobbing. He kept touching her face, her hands, saying she was beautiful. She looked just like me.

For about 10 minutes, I let myself exist in that bubble. just me, my daughter, and her father, experiencing something pure.

Then Valerie showed up. I don’t know who told her I was in labor, probably Chelsea. But she came walking into my hospital room about 2 hours after I’d given birth, still exhausted and sore and emotional, and she had this look on her face, this triumphant look, like she was arriving to claim something.

She went straight to the bassinet where Aida was sleeping and started reaching for her. I said no loudly. The nurse who was in the room checking my vitals actually stepped between Valerie and the baby because of how fast I sat up.

Valerie acted offended, said she had every right to meet her granddaughter. I told her she’d lost that right when she encouraged her son to publicly accuse me of being a cheater. When she hugged him for humiliating me, when she walked out of a restaurant after calling me a gold digger, she turned to Remy expecting him to override me to tell me I was being ridiculous to let her hold the baby anyway.

And Remy, who I genuinely did not expect to grow a spine in that moment, told his mother she needed to leave. I have never seen Valerie look so shocked in my life. her own son in front of a nurse and me and my mother who had come back from getting coffee told her to leave.

She asked him if he was serious. He said yes. He said I’d just given birth and I got to decide who was in the room and if I didn’t want her there then she needed to go.

She left but not before looking at me and saying this wasn’t over. That I might have fooled her son, but I hadn’t fooled her. That she would make sure everyone knew what kind of person I really was.

The next few days in the hospital were tense. Remy stayed as much as he could, helping with Ada, bringing me food, trying to be supportive, but I could tell he was getting pressure from his family. His phone kept buzzing with texts he wouldn’t show me. Chelsea came by once, and I refused to let her in the room. She stood in the hallway arguing with Remy loud enough that a nurse had to ask them to keep it down.

When I got discharged and went back to my parents house with Ada, I thought maybe things would calm down. I was wrong.

The DNA test results came back 5 days after Ada was born. I’d arranged it myself through an official lab because I wanted documentation that couldn’t be disputed. 99.98% probability that Remy was the father.

Obviously, because I never cheated, because there was never anyone else because this entire nightmare was built on lies and projection and a toxic family’s inability to mind their own business.

I sent Remy the results. He sent back a long message apologizing again, saying he knew now he’d been wrong, saying he wanted to make things right. I told him if he wanted to make things right, he needed to share those results with everyone who’d heard his accusations. his family, his friends, everyone at that BBQ who clapped when he called me a liar. He said he would.

And then Valerie lost her mind.

I found out later what happened from Remy, but basically he went to his parents house to show them the DNA results and tell them they needed to apologize. Valerie refused. Said DNA tests could be faked. Said I probably knew someone who worked at a lab. Said this proved nothing except that I was good at covering my tracks.

Franklin, who had been silent through most of this, according to Remy, finally snapped. He told Valerie she was being insane, that she’d spent 30 years making everyone around her miserable because of her own guilt, and he wasn’t going to watch her do the same thing to their son, that she needed to accept she was wrong and apologize, or she was going to lose Remy and her grandchild.

Valerie apparently screamed at Franklin that he was only defending me because he wished he’d never married her. That he’d spent their whole marriage looking for an escape, and now he was using me as an excuse, that she’d given him everything, including Remy, and this was how he repaid her.

Franklin told her that trapping him wasn’t giving him everything. It was taking his choice away and that watching her try to convince Remy that I’d done the same thing had made him realize he couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

They had a massive fight. Chelsea took Valerie’s side. Hank stayed out of it and Remy left his childhood home that night with his dad telling him he was proud of him for standing up for his family and his mom telling him he was dead to her. Dead to her, her own son, because he believed DNA evidence over her paranoid conspiracy theories.

Someone keyed liar into my parents mailbox 3 days ago. We don’t have proof it was anyone from Remy’s family, but the timing seems pretty obvious. My dad filed a police report and installed a camera on the porch.

So, where does that leave things now?

Remy and I are not together. I don’t know if we ever will be again. He comes over everyday to see Aida, and he’s genuinely good with her. Patient, gentle, completely in love with his daughter. When I watch him hold her, I can see the person I fell for before everything went wrong. But I also can’t forget what he did.

Ada woke up and she’s looking at me with these big eyes like she’s trying to figure out who I am. She doesn’t know any of this. She doesn’t know her grandmother thinks she might not be legitimate. She doesn’t know her father accused her mother of cheating in front of 50 people. She doesn’t know about the group chat or the keyed cars or the screaming fights. All she knows is that someone’s holding her and she’s warm and fed and safe.

I’m going to make sure it stays that way. Whatever happens with Remy, whatever happens with his toxic family, my daughter is going to grow up knowing she was wanted and loved and believed. She’s never going to wonder if she was wanted and loved and believed because I have receipts and Reddit posts and DNA results that prove exactly what happened.

Thank you to everyone who followed this from the beginning. You all kept me sane during the worst months of my life.