The folder opened beneath Margaret’s hands.
For several seconds, she did not turn the first page.
Ruth stood beside the diner table, still wearing the same dark coat she had arrived in, one hand wrapped around a paper cup of coffee she had forgotten to drink.
“Tell me what I’m looking at,” Margaret said.
“A pattern,” Ruth answered.
That word landed harder than Margaret expected.
The first pages contained public records Ruth had been able to locate during the night: two police calls connected to addresses where Daniel had previously lived, neither resulting in charges.
One had been listed as a domestic disturbance.
The second had ended with no complainant willing to cooperate.
There was also a civil filing involving a former girlfriend.
The case had been withdrawn before trial.
No dramatic confession.
No single page capable of destroying Daniel by itself.
That was how these cases often looked.
Fragments.
Doors opened and then closed.
Women who had called for help and later said everything was fine.
Margaret turned another page.
“Anything that can be used now?”
“Not by itself,” Ruth said.
“But it tells us you were right to be worried.
And Carla’s photographs from last night are clean, dated documentation.
Emily also agreed to let us record where each injury was and when she remembered noticing it.”
Margaret’s eyes hardened.
“Remembered?”
Ruth pulled out the chair across from her.
“She’s minimizing.
That’s normal when someone’s frightened and still living with the person causing the fear.
Don’t force the timeline before she’s ready.”
Margaret knew that.
She had said the same thing to frightened witnesses for decades.
Knowing it professionally and hearing it applied to her daughter were two different experiences.
Her hand closed over the edge of the folder.
“I want her out of that house today.”
“So do I,” Ruth said.
“But Emily has to participate in that decision.”
Margaret looked toward the window.
Morning had begun bleaching the black sky into gray.
“Then I’ll give her a decision she can make.”
At eight-fifteen, Margaret returned to Daniel and Emily’s house carrying nothing but her handbag.
Patricia opened the door.
She was already dressed, pearl earrings in place, her expression cool.
“Margaret.
You’re back early.”
“I came to see Emily.”
Patricia didn’t move aside immediately.
“She’s resting.
Daniel thinks she had too much excitement yesterday.”
Margaret held her gaze.
“Then I won’t excite her.”
Patricia smiled thinly.
“You know, mothers can make things harder when they interfere in a marriage.”
“And mothers can make things harder when they excuse everything their sons do.”
The smile vanished.
For the first time, Patricia stepped aside without another word.
Emily was sitting on the edge of the bed upstairs, dressed but pale.
