Chapter 15 - WHAT HE LET ME BELIEVE
I read the fertility letter three times.
Then I handed it to Laura.
She read it once and sat down.
Neither of us spoke.
Four years earlier, our doctor had told us our difficulties were likely multifactorial.
I remembered that word because I hated it.
Multifactorial.
It sounded like a polite way of saying nobody knew exactly why my body would not give us what we wanted.
I had undergone additional testing.
I had changed my diet.
I had reduced flying hours for three months.
I had injected hormones into my abdomen until purple marks covered my skin.
Ryan had watched all of it.
And apparently he had received information suggesting a significant issue on his side and chose not to tell me.
I called the clinic.
They could not discuss details by phone until I completed forms and verified authorization.
My own records were available to me.
Ryan’s were not.
The letter existed because he had given it to me voluntarily in the box.
Or perhaps accidentally.
With Ryan, intent had become difficult to assume.
Rachel inspected the letter the next morning.
“Why would he give you this?””
“He said there were things I didn’t know.””
“That is true.””
“He wanted me to stop involving Emily and Caleb.””
Rachel frowned.
“This doesn’t help him.””
“I know.””
“Unless he thinks it explains something.””
“What?””
She shook her head.
“We don’t guess.””
That phrase had become our rule.
We don’t guess.
We verify.
I searched my own medical file.
One clinic note mentioned that partner testing had been recommended.
Another said partner testing pending.
Then later, treatment planning proceeded under a diagnosis focused primarily on me.
I remembered asking Ryan whether his tests were normal.
He said yes.
I remembered it clearly because I apologized after asking.
I worried he would think I was blaming him.
He hugged me and said, “There is no blame here.””
The memory made me furious in a new way.
I had carried shame that never belonged solely to me because he preferred it that way.
Then Mia called.
She had received a package too.
Not from Ryan directly.
From a courier.
Inside were copies of messages between Ryan and me.
Except some messages were not real.
She recognized the pattern because she had seen the fake screenshots involving Laura in court documents Rachel shared through counsel.
Ryan was still trying to rewrite history.
He wanted Mia to believe I had known about their relationship earlier than I claimed.
One fake message showed me supposedly telling Ryan, “Do whatever you want, just keep her away from my work.””
Another showed me saying, “I don’t care who you sleep with.””
They were absurd to me.
They might not be absurd to someone who did not know me.
Mia asked, “Why is he still doing this?””
I looked at the fertility letter on my table.
“Because if he can make everyone unsure about one fact, he thinks every fact becomes negotiable.””
The digital examiner compared the new screenshots to Ryan’s device backup.
They did not exist as genuine messages.
But draft image files did.
Ryan had violated the court’s evidence order after it was entered.
That changed the temperature of the case.
Rachel filed for sanctions.
Gordon Pike called her the same afternoon.
I was in her office when the call came.
She put it on speaker after confirming with him.
“Rachel, we need to cool this down.””
“You can tell your client to stop manufacturing evidence.””
“That characterization is disputed.””
“Then we can let the examiner explain the layered image files.””
Silence.
Gordon tried again.
“There are global settlement terms that could resolve all pending issues.””
“Send them.””
“They require discretion from everyone involved.””
“Then they are probably not global.””
Gordon exhaled.
“Your client is not blameless.””
I looked at Rachel.
She rolled her eyes so slightly I nearly missed it.
“In what respect?””
“She has aggressively expanded a private marital dispute.””
“Your client involved two girlfriends, one fiancée, a hidden child, a college roommate, a notary, a private investigator, an employer, a brokerage firm, a lender, and my client’s sister.””
Rachel’s voice remained calm.
“Expansion does not appear to be Megan’s specialty.””
Gordon ended the call soon afterward.
I laughed for the first time in days.
Then Rachel looked serious.
“He is going to change lawyers.””
“Ryan?””
“Probably.””
“Why?””
“Because Gordon now understands the risk.””
She was right.
A week later, Gordon moved to withdraw.
The court allowed it.
Ryan hired a new attorney named Elise Warren.
Elise was very different.
No theatrical letters.
No accusations in adjectives.
No six-page complaints about fishing expeditions.
Her first communication contained three sentences.
My client wishes to pursue resolution.
Please identify the documents you believe remain outstanding.
We propose mediation within thirty days.
Rachel read it twice.
“This lawyer is going to make him behave better.””
“Is that bad?””
“No.”
“But it means the easy mistakes may stop.””
Mediation was scheduled.
Before it happened, the digital examiner issued an interim report.
The report confirmed evidence of edited message images.
It confirmed the fake email address associated with the brokerage account had been accessed from Ryan’s home laptop.
It confirmed deleted communications with Victor about moving money.
And it identified evidence that a second Android phone had been backed up to the laptop three times.
The device identifier was consistent across all three backups.
Ryan had denied owning the phone.
The examiner could not locate the device itself.
But one backup remained partially recoverable.
There were thousands of fragments.
Most were useless.
Some were not.
A contact list.
Photographs.
Calendar entries.
Messaging-app databases.
The examiner needed more time.
At mediation, Ryan sat in a separate room from me.
We never spoke directly.
Offers moved through the mediator.
By afternoon, the numbers became serious.
I would receive the house or its equity equivalent.
Hidden funds would be accounted for against Ryan’s share.
Retirement accounts would be divided.
The fictional fertility debt would be formally withdrawn.
Fees related to the forged and altered evidence would be addressed separately.
For the first time, settlement seemed possible.
Then Ryan added one term.
I had to agree never to contact Caleb.
I stared at the proposal.
“I have never contacted Caleb.””
“I know,” Rachel said.
“I have never tried to.””
“I know.””
“Why does he care?””
Rachel considered it.
“Maybe Emily cares.””
“Then why isn’t it phrased as protection for the child?””
Instead, the clause prohibited me from communicating with Caleb, his school, medical providers, relatives, or any person acting on his behalf for any purpose.
It was absurdly broad.
Rachel asked the mediator why the clause mattered so much.
The answer came back vague.
Family privacy.
Child welfare.
Avoiding future conflict.
I would have agreed to a reasonable no-contact provision.
I had no desire to disrupt a seven-year-old boy’s life.
But the strange wording made me suspicious.
We proposed a narrow clause saying I would not initiate contact with Caleb except as legally required.
Ryan rejected it.
He wanted the broader language.
Mediation ended without settlement.
That night, the digital examiner called Rachel.
He had recovered a photograph from the missing Android backup.
It showed a birth certificate.
Not Caleb’s.
A different child.
A girl.
Born eleven months earlier.
Mother: Natalie Shaw.
The sealed medical information forced me to confront a dangerous temptation.
For a few hours, I wanted to use it because it hurt.
Not because it was necessary.
Because I wanted Ryan to feel exposed the way I had felt exposed.
I told Rachel that honestly.
She did not shame me.
She said, “Wanting revenge for ten minutes is human.””
“Building your legal strategy around it is optional.””
So we did not.
We used only what was necessary to explain the disputed letter and treatment costs.
The rest remained sealed.
That choice mattered to me later because it proved I did not have to become Ryan in order to defeat his tactics.
I did not need to collect every private detail and weaponize it.
I could draw lines even when he had not.
That evening I went through a box of old fertility medications I had never thrown away.
Expired syringes.
Instruction sheets.
A tiny cooler pack.
I had kept them for no rational reason.
Maybe because throwing them away felt like admitting the years had ended without the result I wanted.
I finally disposed of them properly.
The action had nothing to do with the court.
No one documented it.
No lawyer cared.
But it felt like reclaiming a room in my own body.
When Ryan later demanded destruction of the letter, I knew I could protect his medical privacy without erasing the evidence that had shaped my decisions.
Boundaries did not require amnesia.
By this stage, winning no longer meant exposing every private fact available to me.
It meant preserving the facts necessary to protect myself while refusing the temptation to weaponize pain simply because Ryan had done so.
That difference mattered deeply.
May you like
Father: Ryan Collins.
