He wasn’t shouting, but his voice was sharp, talking to someone on speakerphone. Pacing. Agitated. Angry. But the room froze not because of his tone.
It froze because of his words.
He spoke to someone named Sabrina. I’d heard the name before—once, maybe twice—an old coworker, he’d said. But the video stripped away any ambiguity.
“I told you I’m handling it,” he snapped. “She won’t figure anything out if I stay calm. Just stop rushing me.”
My stomach twisted. My lawyer stopped writing. Andrew went white.
The judge raised his hand. “Play the rest.”
Onscreen, Andrew sat down—right beside Lily, barely noticing her. His voice cracked under frustration.
“Yes, I’m going to file. I can’t keep doing this. If she finds out before it’s final, she’ll take everything. I need her relaxed so the custody part doesn’t get messy.”
Custody. Keeping me “calm.” Every late night, every secretive moment, slammed into place.
The camera shifted as Lily whispered, “Daddy, why are you saying that? Mommy didn’t do anything.”
Andrew’s response was ice-cold. “Lily, stay out of adult matters. Don’t say anything to your mom. Not a word.”
He didn’t yell, but his tone made Lily flinch.
That made something inside me shatter.