There was a photo attached. A screenshot of a text thread between Rachel and Ellie. And there it was, in Ellie’s own words:
“If I say I’m pregnant, he’ll beg his mom to forgive me. We’ll get the loan, the house, everything. Then maybe I’ll actually think about getting pregnant.”
I stared at the screen. I didn’t feel shocked. I felt cold, heavy, like the last small stubborn part of me that had still hoped I’d overreacted had just turned to stone.
Rachel added one more message: “I shouldn’t be sending this, but I couldn’t keep watching. Jacob deserves better. You deserve better. I’m sorry for waiting this long.”
I sat with it for a while, then made a call. Not to Jacob. Not to Ellie. To my lawyer.
“Ms. Coleman, do you remember the trust account we set up for Jacob a few years ago?”
“Yes,” she said. “The one meant to release after his first child is born.”
“I want it frozen immediately,” I said. “Put it under review.”
She paused. “Is something wrong?”
“Let’s just say,” I replied, “the birth certificate might be missing a name permanently.”
The next morning, I got a text from Jacob. “Please. Just tell me what you want.”