became strangely calm.
Noah’s skin felt too hot against my cheek.
That mattered.
Lily’s fever mattered.
The man in the photograph no longer did.
I captured screenshots, emailed the evidence to an address Cole didn’t know I still used, and backed it up in a secure folder my grandmother’s attorney had helped establish.
My hands barely trembled.
That frightened me more than crying would have.
At midnight, Noah needed another dose of infant medicine. I carried him into the nursery and placed him beside Lily.
Her tiny fist opened and
