Her lawyer touched her elbow, whispering something, and guided her toward the glass exit doors.

I held Owen tighter against my chest, his small heartbeat racing against my own.

“She can’t do that, Dad,” I whispered. “Can she?”

My father did not answer right away.

He watched the glass doors swing shut behind them.

“We have your savings, Hannah,” he said, turning back to me.

“We will use every cent of your personal account to fight her.”

He pulled out his phone to check the bank authorization codes I had given him earlier.

The screen reflected a pale blue light across his lined face.

He tapped the screen twice, his brow furrowing.

He walked a few feet away, holding the phone closer to his face.

The silence between us stretched.

He tapped the screen again, harder this time.

He looked up at me, his expression suddenly pale under the harsh fluorescent lights of the lobby.

His phone began to vibrate in his hand.

“Who is it, Dad?” I asked.

His thumb swiped the screen.

He held the phone to his ear, his eyes fixed on the gray linoleum floor.