“Highly unlikely,” Jennifer said. “The title company did a exhaustive check. There were no liens, no marital claims on the deed, and the trust was ironclad. He has zero legal leverage over that property.”

“Thank you, Jennifer,” I said.

“Get some rest, Tessa,” she said. “You’ve earned a quiet weekend.”

I hung up and walked over to Ivy’s crib.

I looked down at her tiny, perfect face, her chest rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm.

For the first time in months, I felt like I could take a full breath.

The weekend passed in a blur of bottles, diapers, and quiet conversations on Molly’s back porch.

The weather turned cold, a sharp autumn wind blowing down from the Rocky Mountains, scattering yellow aspen leaves across the lawn.

I kept my phone on silent, checking it only occasionally.

There were forty-two missed calls from Brent on Saturday.

On Sunday, there were fifty-six missed calls, followed by a dozen text messages that ranged from furious threats to pathetic pleas for forgiveness.

I didn’t reply to a single one.

By Monday morning, the text messages stopped.