“We only want to give Rosie the stable, secure life she deserves at our family estate.”

I leaned toward Sarah, my face burning with anger.

“She’s lying,” I whispered. “She hasn’t seen Rosie in over eighteen months.”

“She refused to even send a birthday card.”

Sarah tapped her pen against her yellow notepad, signaling me to remain quiet.

“We will have our turn, Emily,” Sarah whispered back.

I reached into my purse to silence my phone, my hand brushing against a small plastic object.

It was Rosie’s pink toy smart device—the one she used to play games and record voice memos.

I had thrown it into my bag when I packed her things in a rush.

I felt the side of the device, and my finger brushed the small recording button.

A tiny green light was blinking on the side of the plastic casing.

I pulled the device out slightly, shielding it with my hand under the table.

The screen showed a recorded file from the night Grant had forced his way into my apartment.

I looked closer at the date and time stamp on the little screen.