ale.

I looked at Daniel. “And that’s not the only thing she left me.”

Behind us, a black town car pulled up to the curb. Mr. Meyers stepped out with two security officers.

He said, “Mrs. Carter, we’re here to secure your property.”

PART 2

Daniel opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked at the deed again, then at the attorney walking toward the house as though the sidewalk had suddenly become a courtroom.

“Emily,” he said softly, changing his voice so quickly that I almost laughed. “Let’s not do this in front of the kids.”

I glanced down at Lily and Noah. Lily’s eyes were wide. Noah was staring at Vanessa’s shoes because he always looked at the floor when adults frightened him.

“You’re right,” I said. “Children shouldn’t watch their father throw their mother out.”

Vanessa shoved the paper back toward me. “This has to be fake.”

Mr. Meyers adjusted his glasses. “It is not. The house is owned by the Whitmore Family Trust, with Mrs. Emily Carter listed as sole beneficiary and controlling trustee as of nine o’clock this morning.”

Daniel’s face lost its color. “Controlling trustee?”

“That means,” I said, “you don’t get to evict me from my own porch.”

One of the security officers stepped forward. “Mrs. Carter, would you like them removed?”

For one moment, Daniel looked truly frightened. Not heartbroken. Not apologetic. Frightened of losing his comfortable life.

He grabbed my wrist. “Emily, stop. We can talk. You’re upset.”

I looked down at his fingers around my skin. “Let go.”

He released me slowly when the officer moved closer.

Vanessa recovered first. “Daniel, tell her. Tell her about the custody agreement.”

Daniel’s jaw tightened.

I turned toward him. “What custody agreement?”

He swallowed. “My lawyer drafted a proposal. Since you don’t have stable income and I own—” He stopped.