I was thrown out of my parents’ house at nineteen for refusing to abort my baby. For ten years, they believed I was a stubborn,

The courthouse in downtown Canton, Ohio, was a massive, gray limestone structure built in the nineteenth century, its heavy Grecian columns designed to intimidate anyone who walked through its arched brass doors.

On Wednesday morning, the second-floor corridor was empty save for our family and the high-priced legal team representing Vanguard Medical Group. The corporate lawyers wore identical navy-blue suits, carried Italian leather briefcases, and moved with the smooth, arrogant confidence of men who were used to buying whatever results their clients desired.

Their lead attorney, a sharp-featured woman named Veronica Vance, stepped toward us as we waited outside Judge Harrison’s chambers.

"Miss Thomas," Vance said, her voice a polished, artificial purr as she looked at me, completely ignoring my parents. "I suggest you sign the voluntary compliance waiver before we enter the chamber. Vanguard is prepared to offer you a trust fund of five hundred thousand dollars for Leo’s education, alongside a monthly stipend, in exchange for exclusive monitoring rights over the next five years. It’s a very generous offer for a woman working as a freelance medical receptionist."

"Keep your money, Miss Vance," I said, my hands tucked into the pockets of my trench coat to hide the nervous tremor in my fingers. "My son isn't for sale. And your company isn't touching his blood."

Vance’s expression instantly turned to ice. "Then you are being foolish, Emma. The federal research grant terms signed by your late brother are absolute. Section 14 clearly states that any biological derivatives resulting from the experimental trial remain under the administrative oversight of the primary sponsor. We have the law on our side."

"You have a contract signed by a dying twenty-one-year-old under the influence of heavy narcotics, Miss Vance," Richard’s voice boomed down the hallway as he stepped forward, his tall, imposing frame completely eclipsing the corporate attorney.

Veronica Vance blinked, her confidence faltering for a fraction of a second as she recognized the retired magistrate. "Judge Thomas. I didn't realize you were representing your daughter. I assumed your... personal relationship with her was non-existent, given the local records."

The insult hit my father hard, a visible flash of shame crossing his features, but he didn't back down.

"My relationship with my daughter is none of your concern, counselor," Richard barked. "But my knowledge of Ohio probate and genetic property law is. You are basing your entire injunction on a federal contract provision that was ruled unconstitutional by the Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals in 2022. The State v. Bioscience Corp precedent clearly established that human genetic material cannot be classified as a corporate derivative if it is carried within a living human child born of natural surrogacy or IVF."

Before Vance could answer, the heavy oak door to the chambers opened, and a bailiff stepped out.

"Judge Harrison will see you now," the bailiff announced.

I looked down at Leo, who was sitting on the wooden bench between Eleanor and Marcus—the private investigator friend who had helped me verify the IVF paperwork years ago.