Truth Is

I'm not sure what lies have been told about me or against this truth, but the facts have always remained the same.

I was married for seven years, and that marriage, although beautiful at times, was devastating for me. In the years since, I have been in a constant process of healing.

Throughout my marriage to Desmond, I posted daily updates. Sharing candid insights about my view of the world often provoked strong reactions—both anger and inspiration—from my audience. This approach allowed people to see intimate aspects of my life via social media, resulting in a modest but loyal following of family, friends, and strangers who felt like family.

Living with a half-truth never felt quite right, and I frequently wished to share the full story on my blog to provide better clarity. I once wrote a version of the truth about Dejah’s birth, but it was just that—a version crafted to romanticize events and avoid portraying Desmond negatively.

Why would I fluctuate between romanticism and abuse in what I share? Most people believed those rants only stemmed from a past life (perhaps I presented them in a way that made you think I was happy in real time, so I could keep believing I was, too). Still, the accounts I shared were rarely completely honest.

The simple truth is that 15 years ago, I was involved with two brothers—twins—and I became pregnant. Both knew the situation, but they responded to it differently.

Desjuan accompanied me to medical appointments, stayed at my apartment, and later at my house. He expressed his love for me and thought it was right to tell his brother everything. While Desjuan was present during most of my pregnancy, Desmond went to San Antonio and disappeared, only calling to say he thought I was pregnant with his brother's child and wanted nothing to do with me. Torn between my feelings for both, I withdrew from what was happening between Desjuan and me. Since I couldn’t return Desjuan’s feelings, he eventually left as well, moving to Dallas.

I intended to raise the twins alone, giving them my last name, Ramos, without seeking help from anyone. It was my responsibility, and I faced it head-on. But when my sons were two months old and had just left the NICU, Desmond reappeared. Fresh from an engagement, he returned suddenly, saying he wanted to meet his boys. He visited my mother’s house one night and then stayed. I suggested a DNA test and a sit-down conversation, but he said, “no because either way they’re my sons.” Those words felt reassuring at the time. A few months later, he married me and insisted that we all change our last names. I asked for my name to be hyphenated, but he said that would be disrespectful.

Back then, I never realized that this was more about possession and control than love and family. The following years of our marriage were tumultuous. Early signs of abuse and manipulation appeared. The unconditional love I thought my ex-spouse had for me turned out to be false. He started criticizing, belittling, and shaming me for past events. I was not allowed to discuss or share it with others, not the recurring abuse or the reasons why, but there was a constant reminder—my kids. As the twins grew, Desmond’s dislike for them grew as well. Their traits bothered him, and he would accuse them (only in front of me) of acting like his brother, whom he secretly judged as just as harsh.

Due to ongoing instability and increasing incidents of toxic behavior, I repeatedly tried to leave. Each attempt triggered a cycle of trauma, neglect, love-bombing, confusion, and attempts to recapture the relationship. In 2015, during a separation, I became pregnant with my daughter. Desmond again claimed he wanted to raise this child with me, regardless of her biological parentage. I agreed to his terms—mainly that he would raise Dejah no matter what and that I was never to speak to the other potential father again. We stayed together for another two years after that conversation, but those years are a traumatic blur. Some days it comes to me in flashes.

I remember being as big as a house, about seven months pregnant, trying to avoid being yelled at and berated during a fight. I walked to the front door, only to be shoved with full force and told to get the f*** out. Desjuan and Liz were with us at the time, and it was obvious to me that Desmond was having a hard time dealing with all of us living together. Another time, he threw me around inside our bedroom, nearly slamming my pregnant belly into a bedpost, catching me just in time. I recall how uncomfortable I was having Desmond's family in the hospital and waiting room the day Dejah was born. I begged him to be honest with them so that no one would be left in the dark, but he refused to tell anyone the truth. In 2018, her biological father decided to become involved in her life. Though I couldn’t deny this morally, I knew it would bring more abuse and chaos into my home, so I had the paternity test done privately and presented everyone with the results. It was terrifying. Given that during my pregnancy the situation escalated physically, I anticipated a similar outcome.

From that point on, our marriage quickly fell apart, and I was unprepared for the intense coldness and vengeful attitude that appeared during the divorce. I had hoped we could settle things peacefully, keeping stability for the children and continuing to co-parent. No one understood the battle I had been enduring for years. The truth is, he was abusive in many ways—emotionally, mentally, physically, financially, and spiritually. When I walked away, I left him everything, down to my cherished collection of DVDs (which he stated I wasn’t allowed to remove from the house anyway). Instead of fighting a losing battle or jeopardizing my children’s safety, I chose to submit to my then-husband and stay his ‘dutiful wife’ for years, hiding and suppressing everything out of fear of emotional pain and physical retaliation.

That protection was usually brief, as abuse cycles do; ours would repeat. Often, I responded in the only way I knew how—by giving back what I was fed. I read an excerpt from someone else’s writing that I would like to share for the sake of deeper understanding.

“Reactive abuse is what happens when someone is pushed, and pushed, and pushed… emotionally, mentally, sometimes even physically… until their nervous system is completely shot. It’s when you’ve been provoked, gaslit, criticized, manipulated, and broken down over and over again to the point where your body is no longer responding from logic… it’s responding from survival.

It’s not who you are. It’s what you’ve been pushed into. It looks like anger. It looks like rage. It looks like “losing control.” But underneath that? It’s pain. It’s fear. It’s trauma. It’s a person whose brain has been living in fight-or-flight for far too long.” (Quote: Possibly Katelyn Celeste)

Desmond distorted the truth, depicting me as a liar, a cheat, and spreading other narratives. Amid the chaos, it became easier to accept that I was to blame and the source of all problems... that I was the poison. He had maintained an environment of shame for so long that even in his absence, all I felt was utter disgrace and self-disgust. Anyone I tried to explain myself to in his corner wouldn't give me the time. Understandably, they thought I was the one lying to them and choosing to keep these secrets… but that wasn’t true. In fact, when the truth surfaced, no one in my camp was surprised, because I had been honest with those closest to me. As everything unraveled, I finally felt free to share my side of the story and did my best to be straightforward with those who had always been closer to him. Destinee, their sister, and I got close and spoke honestly many times. She had been more aware of what was going on than I had ever known. Zelly, our mutual friend, and his wife, Julia, were the only two people who didn’t judge and continued to love and support the children despite the new revelations.

After Zelly's death, I think we all realized we had lost our only connection to our past life and family. The kids were overwhelmed with grief; Dèjah clung to pictures of her uncle every night and cried. They wondered why so many family members seemed to vanish overnight. I took them to his funeral so we could mourn together properly. Nonetheless, the entire Mays family, whom they had known since birth, ignored them. Feeling uncomfortable, the twins asked us to leave the funeral early. I cannot imagine the sense of disconnect they experienced at just seven years old—uncles, aunts, grandparents, cousins, and even the man they knew as their father all passed by as if they weren’t there.

The next day, I sat with the twins and shared their life stories, revealing everything about their father, uncle, and me — the full, ugly truth. I anticipated disdain and hatred, but it never arrived.

My sons looked at me like adults and said, “I don’t understand why that makes them angry with you.. they were a part of it, too.”

Together, we've built a new family with new norms and environments that encourage honesty, growth, and diligence. I am happily married to my best friend, Dèjah’s father, who wants to adopt the twins. Spiritually, they are already his. The only obstacle is that they still have a biological parent in the world, and we need to legally terminate parental rights to finalize the adoption. I have asked for nothing from these people over the past seven years, not even the truth. I have let events unfold naturally and have done my best with the situations I believe I helped shape.

Accountability—it’s not difficult.

But I am fed up with pretending I caused these situations on my own.

What I don’t understand, and the main reason I’m writing this down, is how two people can let their issues with me stop them from being responsible, loving fathers. Whether the role was chosen or expected, you both have failed these two wonderful boys. Your lies have also robbed them of a large part of their family and childhood.

Fortunately, I have successfully co-parented with Liz, Desjuan’s daughter's mother. Although our relationship was rocky at first, it has been a valuable learning experience for me, and she is now part of my family. Their daughter, Scarlett, is one of my favorite little humans—brilliant, kind, funny, smart, and emotionally sensitive enough to rival your gloomiest days. Scarlett often spends weekends and special occasions at our house. She shares a remarkable bond with the twins, and watching their relationship grow has been wonderful. Recently, Scarlett visited and seemed more emotional than usual, so I sat down with her for a while. She expressed that she missed her father but understood that he works too much to spend time with her. Despite her disappointment, she still speaks of Desjuan as if he’s the most important person in her world, and he is. When he told her that the twins were NOT her brothers and that she should STOP calling them that, it broke her heart. Liz and I explained that we were doing a DNA test, which made her break down in my arms, saying she didn’t want it to confirm what her father said—that they weren’t his kids. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe the pressures placed on such young kids. I reassured her that I KNOW Desjuan is the twins’ father and that the test would definitely show that. Liz added, “This test will prove it to your dad,” and I said, “Then he can never say anything like that to you again.”

A DNA test verified that Desjuan is the twins' father. Desmond and I knew this when the DNA test he took indicated that the twins weren’t his. The last time we spoke, I asked him, “What now with the boys? When will your brother contact me?” He replied, “We don’t talk about you,” and added, “The boys can contact me when they’re 18.” I asked, “Why would they do that when you’re leaving now?” I then asked him to say goodbye to the twins, as Jax stood in the doorway calling for his ‘dad’. I said, “If you're leaving their lives, at least give them closure and explain why…”

Desmond ignored both of our pleas.

I recently contacted several members of the Mays family. They have this test; the twins' grandfather read my message and forwarded it but did not reply. I also had a brief phone call with Desjuan, who coldly asked what I wanted, claimed I had chosen his brother over him, and hung up before the conversation could be finished. Deion has called and left messages almost daily. We are now either blocked or being ignored once again. This does not surprise me. They are cowards, and I was just as guilty for letting them get away with this illusion for so long.

Whatever lies have tucked you and your spouses in at night are over; it’s time to step up.

The twins turn 14 on Monday, and I have been working on this story since that sentence read,

“The twins will be turning 14 soon”… “The twins will be turning 14 in April”… “The twins will be turning 14 this month.”…

Finding the right words has not been easy.

If the Mays family has been involved in or aware of the schemes, proceed accordingly. However, if you believe you were misled and still wish to engage with the twins, I am open to communication, as are they. Nathaniel, in particular, has questions and would like to talk to his biological father. Do with this information what you will.

If you are within their circle, hold them accountable.