“Evaluations saying what?”

“That you suffer from severe delusional paranoia and are an unfit mother.”

My stomach turned, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

“He’s going to use them in the custody hearing tomorrow,” Nathan said.

We pulled into the gravel parking lot of a low, single-story motel hidden behind dense pine trees.

A single neon sign buzzed in the damp air: *The Pines*.

Nathan turned off the engine and looked back at me.

“We’re going to prove it’s fake,” he said, his blue eyes intense in the dim dashboard light. “But we have to stay here until the morning.”

The motel room was clean but basic, smelling of pine cleaner and old carpets.

I laid Rosie down on the queen bed, tucking the faded floral comforter around her chin.

Nathan sat at the small wooden table in the corner, opening his laptop.

The screen illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw and the shadows under his eyes.

I walked over and sat opposite him.

“How did you find all this?” I asked, watching his fingers fly across the keyboard.