Jennifer was holding a neat, black folder.

Inside that folder was the original copy of our prenuptial agreement, signed and notarized three weeks before our wedding.

“We are fully prepared,” Jennifer said, her voice steady and reassuring. “He has no legal right to enter this house, and he has no legal claim to your assets.”

I walked over to the hallway and checked on Ivy.

She was sleeping soundly in the portable crib we had set up in Molly’s guest bedroom, her tiny fists curled near her face.

I gently touched her soft cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin.

I had promised myself I would protect her, no matter what it took.

I walked back to the living room and stood by the front window, pulling the sheer curtain aside just an inch.

The afternoon light was fading fast, casting long, blue shadows across the snow-dusted lawn.

We waited in silence.

Twenty minutes later, the bright glare of headlights cut through the darkness of the driveway.

A car tore up the gravel road, its tires spinning and spitting rocks against the wooden fence.