Within seventy-two, she posted a photo on social media of three tiny white baby shoes embroidered with yellow daisies—shoes Dorothy knew Colleen had bought with tears in her eyes after finding out all three babies were girls-girls-boy instead of boy-boy-girl as the old wives’ charts had predicted.
The caption read: Sometimes life gives you a second chance at family.
Jolene sent Dorothy a screenshot with no message attached.
Dorothy sat on the edge of the hotel bed and stared at the image until the screen dimmed in her hand.
Then she called Emmett.
“File everything,” she said. “Visitation. Custody. Financial injunctions. Whatever needs filing.”
“I’m already drafting.”
“Good.”
“Dorothy,” he said gently, “this will get ugly.”
She looked at the screenshot again. At Colleen’s baby shoes displayed on a marble countertop like trophies.
“It already is.”
That same evening, while organizing the last of the USB materials, Emmett found one more item hidden in a scanned folder: pages from Colleen’s pregnancy journal.
Week 24: I found the earring in his car.
Week 28: I hired the investigator.
Week 32: I’m not staying because I’m weak. I’m staying because I have nowhere he won’t follow.