Damon’s face turned red. Celeste moved forward. “Richard, do something.”
My father looked from the nurse to me. Something uncertain crossed his face.
By noon, Damon became careless. In the hallway, believing I was asleep, he called someone and snapped, “She’s refusing. Get the judge lined up. Celeste says Richard will back us. Once the trust transfers, we freeze her out.”
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My phone was beneath my blanket, recording everything.
At three, my best friend Lila came in carrying a diaper bag. There were no diapers inside. Instead, there was a slim laptop, two certified lab reports, bank tracing records, screenshots of forged emails, and the emergency petition I had drafted at four in the morning between contractions.
Lila kissed my forehead. “You sure?”
I looked through the nursery glass at my daughter. “I was sure the day he drugged me.”
At five, Damon returned with my father and Celeste. He set the folder beside my dinner tray.
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