Keep knowing that.
Suspicion isn’t proof, and memory isn’t a ledger.”
I nodded.
That was why I had come to her.
Not for revenge.
For discipline.
My phone buzzed.
Ryan.
Then again.
And again.
Nine missed calls accumulated before a message appeared.
Come home before my parents wake up.
Don’t make this ugly.
Mrs.
Parker read my face, not the screen.
“Threat?”
“Instruction.”
“Save it.”
I did.
Another message arrived.
You are not taking my child away from me.
Then:
My father will handle this if you force him to.
Mrs.
Parker’s eyebrows rose slightly.
“He’s creating your timeline for you.”
For the first time since 4:30, I almost smiled.
By seven that morning, we had done nothing dramatic.
That was important.
We did not hack an account.
We did not copy Ryan’s passwords.
We did not access confidential Silverline systems.
We simply preserved what I already lawfully possessed, photographed the contents of my folder, backed up Ryan’s messages, and wrote down everything that had happened while it was still fresh.
Then Mrs.
Parker called a family-law attorney she trusted.
Her name was Elena Ward.
I expected sympathy when she arrived.
Instead, she asked questions.
Who owned the house?
Were our finances joint?
Did I have independent income?
Had Ryan ever threatened me physically?
No.
Had he restricted access to money?
Sometimes.
Had he ever told me I could not return to work?
Not directly.
He had simply made returning so difficult that eventually I stopped trying.
Every answer went into Elena’s notes without decoration.
“And the child?” she asked.
“Two months old.”
“Primary caregiver?”
“Me.”
“Any reason Ryan would say the baby is unsafe with you?”
I looked at Mrs.
Parker.
