But she had never actually existed.
Daniel stepped toward me.
“You had no right.”
I moved one sheet from the front of the folder and held it out.
“You’ve been served.”
He didn’t take it.
“Served with what?”
I placed the papers on the nursery dresser.
“Read them.”
His eyes dropped to the pages, but he still refused to touch them.
Celeste did not.
She leaned just enough to see the court heading.
Her face changed.
“Daniel,” she whispered.
He ignored her.
“This is ridiculous.
Noah is my son.”
“Yes.”
“So I have rights.”
“Yes.”
My agreement confused him more than an argument would have.
I continued.
“And Noah has rights too.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“To be cared for.
To receive medical attention.
To have responsible adults available during an emergency.”
“I was traveling.”
“With Celeste.”
“For work.”
Celeste’s eyes snapped toward him.
That was the first crack.
I saw it happen immediately.
Daniel did not.
“You told me this wasn’t a work trip,” she said.
He turned.
“Not now.”
“You said—”
“Celeste.”
His voice sharpened.
She stopped speaking, but the damage was done.
Daniel looked back at me.
“You’re trying to make this look like something it wasn’t.”
I almost smiled.
He had given me the sentence every litigator hopes to hear.
Because once someone insists the evidence has been misunderstood, the next question is simple.
Which evidence?
I reached into the folder and removed a printed timeline my former partner and I had assembled.
It began with Noah’s temperature.
Then my first call to Daniel.
My second.
My fifth.
My tenth.
My nineteenth.
The final voicemail.
The approximate time Mrs.
