The sharp knock at the front door sounded again, louder this time, rattling the glass panes.

Molly stood up from the wooden table, her chair scraping harshly against the linoleum.

“Stay here with the baby,” Molly said, her voice tight.

She walked toward the front hallway, her boots clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

I followed her anyway, keeping Ivy tucked securely against my chest.

Jennifer rose from her seat and followed close behind me, her notepad still in hand.

Through the narrow side window of the front door, I saw a young man wearing a blue windbreaker.

He held a clipboard and a thick manila envelope under his arm.

Molly unlocked the door but only opened it a few inches, keeping her foot pressed firmly behind it.

“Can I help you?” Molly asked.

“I have a hand-delivery for Tessa Vance,” the young man said, squinting against the bright Colorado sun.

“I’m her attorney,” Jennifer said, stepping forward into the gap. “I am authorized to accept service.”

The courier handed over the envelope and a digital signature pad.

Jennifer signed her name with a quick, practiced flick of the stylus.