The True Story Of How I Met Your Daddy

My hand shakes as I write this, but I have to get it down. It's the last thing I'll be doing in this life. I want you to know who your real parents are, and the real story behind them. I love you, my baby boy.


7. Courts


The test came back 40 days later, but I stupidly put his address on the return envelope, instead of mine, so he got to check it out. Now the bloody deadbeat has filed three charges against me. One for breaking and entering, which I admit I did, but he wouldn't listen to me otherwise. The second charge is for fraud, which can't be right, as I didn't deliberately defraud him. The third one is for harassment, which is absolutely ridiculous, as all I did was ask him to look after his child.

Except, according to the results of the paternity test, Braden-Harlem isn't his child. I know he is though; the eyes are exactly the same, and I have only slept with him before, so that can only mean he was the father.

I stood in over my sleeping son, watching his tiny chest rise and fall, in my sister's too-tight borrowed suit. I had to go to court in 15 minutes, and was using the spare minutes I had left. After all, it's 3 years in jail for fraud alone. Added to between 2 and 10 years for breaking and entering, and 5 years for harassment, I might not be able to see my baby boy again until he's between 10 and 18 years old. He can't live alone for between 10 and 18 years, so if the jury finds me guilty of any of those charges, then my beautiful Braden-Harlem will have to be put up for adoption.

I don't want to do it, but I've talked about it with my sister, and she will adopt him if nessescary. I hope it won't...come to...that. I love him so much. I reach out my hand, and brush his feathery hair gently as he sleeps.

"I love you, my beautiful boy, Braden-Harlem. I always have, and I always will." I whisper, as a tear drips down my cheek. I step back, and leave him with my sister. I'll be late if I don't hurry, and that would make a really bad first impression. They still matter, even in the good-old days of 1981.

Closing the apartment door, I shield my eyes from the vigorous light of the paparazzi. They're determined to get my photo, but I'm not having any of it. Just because I slept with a popstar, had his child, and he's taking me to court, doesn't give you the right to try and blind me. I'm eternally grateful to whoever sent the car to pick me up. I can at least avoid the press for a while. I sink back in the seats, planning how I'm going to defend myself. I hope I get a lawyer, or I might just save them the trouble, and plead guilty. I'll be useless otherwise.

The rental car pulls into the court, and I get out to protest my innocence. It's really intimidating, being in a courthouse. I might even get thrown out for not being posh enough. I can't help that, but I might as well get it over with. I head through the building towards Courtroom 1, where the case is to be held. He's waiting outside, looking over at me when he hears me coming. I bet he's got this annoyingly smug look in his eyes, but I can't really tell; he's wearing sunglasses which hide his eyes.

"Oh, so you did turn up then? I was beginning to think you were too busy looking after your son. After all, the real father isn't around, is he." He's so lucky we're in a courthouse right now, or I would have cracked him right across that face of his.

"Looks like I did. I still have to look after him though, as his real father's a bloody deadbeat." He's really asking for it now.

"No need to be that harsh. Jesus Christ, I just didn't believe you." I don't care that I've gone too far. He deserved it. All the money's been used up, so I'm allowed to be snippy.

"And found it nessescary to press three different charges against me? Do you even know how old my baby will be when I get out of jail? Between 10 and 18, that's how old!" I snap, making him back away. His hands up in the classic "Don't shoot!" stance.

"Jesus Christ! That is bad. Maybe I did go a bit too far, but I'll try to drop the charges. Not for you, but because of your child." He might have a heart anyway.

"Thanks. It just goes to show that I thought wrong." I do feel a bit embarrassed now.

"What did you think in the first place?" He asks, as I feel my face turning beetroot red.

Hey, he was honest with me, so I might as well return the favour. "I thought you didn't have a heart at all. Maybe because it had been eaten by zombies or something."

He just looks puzzled, then breaks into a wide smile and starts laughing like a crazy person.

"What the actual hell? Am I that funny?" I ask, as he manages to stop laughing for a few seconds.

"It's's your...crazy imagination!...Eaten by zombies....for God's...sake!" He barely manages to say that whole sentence, as he keeps laughing halfway through it.

"You're the crazy one. Zombies are cool. Everyone that I know loves zombie movies and horror flicks." I reply.

"Do they? That is very...interesting." I think I might have given him an idea. Not sure what for, but I have.


We're summoned in to court, where all my nerves start jangling like guitar strings. I keep my head bowed low, as I take my place in the dock. I stand when the judge enters, but my legs are shaking like crazy, and they still don't stop when I sit back down again.

I look around, trying to spot my lawyer. I'm legally entitled to one, but that doesn't mean I'll get a lawyer. I wish I would though, as I have no idea what I'm doing. When it comes to the plea, I say Not Guilty, so he can drop the charges.The prosecution stands, and I know that I'm screwed.

I blank out a lot of the prosecution's speech, as I don't want to hear myself being publicly disgraced. I can't quite blank out the words "dangerously obsessed", "promiscuously inclined", and perhaps the worst one of the lot: "a danger to her newborn son" though. I feel like absolute crap after that tyrade, but the worst is yet to come. It's the prosecution-witness cross examination next. Lets hope he keeps his word and drops the charges.

"You were the target of her harassment, is that right?" The prosecution asks, as I tense up. It's now, or never.

"Yes." He replies.

I feel my heart shatter; he lied to me. He said he'd drop the charges on me. Now he's saying I harassed him, when I didn't. I don't want to hear the rest of it, so I blank out the cross examination completely. I recieve a very sharp poke in the back though, as the defence (I don't have a lawyer, so I have to do it) is required to cross-examine the witness.

"Do you wish to continue with the cross-examination?" The judge asks. I'm shaking like a leaf, and there is no way in heaven that I'll be able to even get one word out to him.

"No." I reply.

"Do you wish to change your plea to Guilty?" He asks, as my hands shake uncontrollably.

I'm destined for prison whether I do or not, so I might as well get on with it, as he lied to me. "Yes" I reply, my voice barely more than a whisper. I see that he's shocked. This wasn't how he expected it to go.

"Well, if that's the case, I'm calling a ten minute break for sentencing."

I stand, and leave the courtroom. I'm almost out of the door, when he grabs my shoulder to talk to me.

"Get off!" I snap, knocking his arm away. I want nothing to do with this liar.

"What is wrong with you? You just sealed yourself a jail sentence." He takes hold of my wrist instead, forcing me to listen.

"Me? You're the bloody liar! You said you were going to drop the charges." I snap, trying to tear my wrist away.

"I was! That part comes later, but I honesttly was."

"Drop the bullshit." I manage to tear my wrist away, and I turn away from him. "Your not worth it."

I'm called back in to hear my sentence. I hope it's quite short, so Braden-Harlem will have a mother.

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