Pulled copies of tax returns, mortgage records, insurance papers, everything a modern divorce devours.
He did not call Vanessa.
He did not text her accusations.
He spoke to her only as much as required to avoid alarming her before he was ready.
“Ruby loves staying with Dad,” he texted Friday night. “Let’s keep her there through the weekend.”
Vanessa answered with a thumbs-up emoji.
An emoji.
That alone told me more than any investigation could have.
Sunday afternoon Daniel went back to the house alone under the pretense of grabbing work files.
He photographed medicine bottles in the bathroom cabinet.
Found one children’s Benadryl in the kitchen pantry behind a row of tea tins.
Took pictures of that too.
On Monday morning, after I dropped Ruby at school, he sat across from Vanessa at the kitchen island and laid the evidence in front of her.
He told me about it later that night at my table, voice flat from the effort of containing himself.
“She smiled when I came in,” he said. “Asked if I wanted coffee.”
I said nothing.
“I put the tox screen down first.”
He looked past me as if he were seeing the scene replayed on the wall.