The document was fifty pages of legal venom.

It cited my modest income as an environmental consultant.

It pointed to my frequent travel for field research as evidence of neglect.

It described our two-bedroom apartment as inadequate and unsafe for heirs to the Harrington estate.

They were asking a judge to remove the boys from my care immediately.

I leaned against the door, the paper crinkling in my grip.

The phone in my pocket began to ring.

I pulled it out and saw Blake’s name on the screen.

I answered it before the second ring.

“Did you do this?” I demanded, my voice cracking.

“Emma, listen to me,” Blake said.

He sounded breathless, his usual calm demeanor gone.

“I just found out,” he said. “My mother bypassed my legal team. She filed the petition through her personal attorneys.”

“She is trying to take my children, Blake!” I shouted.

I didn’t care if the boys heard me now.

“I’m coming over,” Blake said.

“No, you’re not,” I said. “You stay away from us.”

“Emma, you don’t understand how she operates,” he pleaded. “If you fight her alone, she will crush you. Let me help.”