MY SEVEN-YEAR-OLD GRANDDAUGHTER CLUTCHED MY HAND AND WHISPERED, “GRANDPA… MOM PUTS SOMETHING IN MY JUICE.” I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST A CHILD’S FEAR—UNTIL A MEMPHIS DOCTOR READ HER TESTS, FROZE, AND WENT SILENT FOR FOUR LONG SECONDS.

“You didn’t have to,” he said. “People don’t usually sedate healthy children for no reason.”

I felt something in my jaw jump.

He nodded toward the folder. “Medication records, doctor testimony, timeline, custody planning. And if there is another man, we prove that too. Quietly.”

From a drawer, he took out a business card and slid it across the desk.

Ray Dobbins Investigations.

“He’s discreet,” James said. “And unlike most private investigators, he knows when to stop talking.”

“Good.”

“One more thing,” James added. “Get Ruby out of that house as soon as possible. Not next week. Not after a family discussion. Today if you can.”

By eleven-thirty, I got my chance.

Daniel called while I was sitting at my kitchen table pretending I had the appetite for a ham sandwich.

“Hey, Dad,” he said. “Vanessa says Ruby can stay with you a few days if you want. She thinks it’ll cheer you both up.”

Cheer us both up.

I gripped the phone hard enough my knuckles whitened.

“That would be great,” I said evenly.

He laughed softly. “You sound like you just won something.”

“You have no idea,” I said.

He thought I was joking.

At two o’clock I pulled up to the house again.