A wave of relief washed over me, so strong I felt lightheaded.

“It’s over,” I whispered.

“Not yet,” my father said, his voice cautious.

“What do you mean?”

“Patricia has resources, Hannah,” he said, pulling his chair closer to my bed.

“Her lawyers are already at the precinct.”

Before I could answer, my own phone, which my father had recovered from the house earlier, lit up on the table.

The screen showed an incoming text message from an unknown number.

I picked it up, my fingers trembling as I tapped the screen.

The message was brief, but every word felt like a physical blow.

*You think you can ruin us?* the text read.

*I will spend every penny I have to make sure you never see your son again.*

I stared at the screen, the breath leaving my lungs.

“Dad,” I whispered, holding the phone out to him.

My father took the phone, his eyes scanning the message.

His expression turned to stone.

“She’s already out,” he said.

“How?” I gasped. “She was just arrested.”

“Cash bail,” my father said, his voice flat. “She didn’t even have to wait for a hearing.”