Molly gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white.

“He won’t touch you at my place,” she said, shifting the car into gear. “Not ever again.”

We drove away from the dark, imposing silhouette of the Redwood Crest mansion.

I looked back once through the rain-streaked window.

The house looked like a tomb, its grand stone facade swallowing the light.

Twenty minutes later, we arrived at Molly’s suburban home in South Boulder.

It was smaller, warmer, and smelled of dried lavender and fresh coffee.

Molly wrapped me in a thick wool blanket while I fed Ivy a warm bottle.

The quietness of her living room felt heavy.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table.

It was an email from Jennifer.

*Subject: URGENT – Redwood Crest Sale – Initial Disclosures.*

I opened it with trembling fingers.

Attached was a secure signing link.

“Is that the paperwork?” Molly asked, bringing me a cup of hot chamomile tea.

“Yes,” I said, setting the baby bottle down as Ivy drifted off to sleep in my lap. “Elliot’s buyer is real.”