"As McCorvey was visibly pregnant at the time of the first trial, she and her lawyers agreed that it would be best if she were not to appear in court at all. McCorvey recalled that she waited “as Linda and Sarah made history in [her] name.” According to I am Roe, when the judges announced their decision on June 17, 1970, McCorvey was initially elated to learn that she had won the case. This joy immediately gave way to anguish as Linda Coffee delivered the horrible news: the state had issued an injunction, proclaiming its intent to continue upholding Texas’s anti-abortion statute. Regardless, McCorvey was already well into her third trimester of pregnancy, and therefore, both medically and legally unable to get an abortion. Joshua Prager’s 2013 account in Vanity Fair rebuts this claim, stating that McCorvey gave birth before finding out the first Roe decision. Whatever the facts of the situation are, it is clear that the lawyers were unconcerned by the fact that McCorvey had to give birth despite her role as their plaintiff. This moment merits a single sentence in Weddington’s memoir: “But it was too late for Jane Roe; she gave birth early in the summer and placed the baby for adoption through Henry McCluskey.” In McCorvey’s version, this news sets off a chain-reaction of events that would fundamentally alter the course of her life. There is a heavy-handedness to how McCorvey manages the initial shock of learning that she would have to give birth once again, as she realizes that “this moment was not really for me. It was about me, and maybe all the women who'd come before me, but it was really for all the women who were coming after me.” Published in 1994 and targeted towards a liberal-leaning audience, it is unsurprising that this caveat appears in the text. Nevertheless, it is followed by an unadulterated outpouring of emotion, as McCorvey later explodes: “I was nothing to Sarah and Linda, nothing more than just a name on a piece of paper. And without them, without their damn legal abortion, my soul was trapped and my body was in jail. I was hopeless. Worthless.” Whether this memory is recalled accurately or misremembered, this sense of betrayal would echo throughout McCorvey’s subsequent activism for the rest of her life."