My husband got my best friend pregnant while I was eight months pregnant with his baby.

The morning mist was still clinging to the hydrangeas when the black sedan idled outside the iron gates. It wasn't Marcus’s truck, nor was it Elena’s battered station wagon. It had the polished, soulless gleam of corporate money—the kind of car Julian used to lease when he wanted to intimidate creditors before a hostile takeover.

I stood on the front porch, drying a coffee mug with a linen towel, feeling the familiar chill crawl up my spine. Lily was inside, safely ensconced in her high chair, singing nonsense syllables to a half-eaten bowl of strawberries.

The driver didn’t get out. Instead, a young woman in a sharp gray pantsuit stepped out from the passenger side, carrying a manila envelope tucked beneath her arm like a baton. She didn’t ring the buzzer on the pillar. She simply stood before the wrought iron, tapped her wrist, and waited until she caught my eye through the glass screen door.

I walked down the steps slowly, letting the gravel crunch beneath my boots. Every nerve ending screamed for me to retreat inside and bolt the deadbolts, but I had spent months learning that fear was the exact currency Julian fed upon. I wouldn't pay him another dime of it.

"Can I help you?" I asked, stopping three feet short of the gate.

"Clara Vance?" the woman asked, her voice clipped, professional, completely devoid of empathy.

"Clara Bennett," I corrected coldly. "I took my name back nine months ago."

She slid the heavy envelope through the gap in the iron bars. It fell onto the crushed gravel with a dull thud. "You’ve been served. Emergency motion for joint custody and unfreezing of escrow account 409. Hearing is set for Thursday morning at nine o’clock."

My breath caught in my throat, but I kept my chin level. "Julian signed away his temporary visitation rights when he defaulted on child support and fled the state."

"Mr. Vance has retained new representation," she said, already turning back toward the idling town car. "And he is back in the state. Have a good day, Ms. Bennett."

I picked up the envelope. The paper was cold and damp from the morning air. Through the clear plastic window on the back, Julian’s signature looped across the legal affidavit in arrogant, bold strokes—the exact same handwriting that once signed my birthday cards and promised forever while he was bedding Sienna in our guest house.

My phone vibrated in my back pocket. I pulled it out with trembling fingers.