I tapped on the PDF attachment instead.

As the file loaded, my eyes scanned the first page.

It was a heavily doctored psychological evaluation from my hospital stay after Lily’s birth.

The words ‘severe postpartum psychosis’ and ‘potential danger to the infant’ were highlighted in yellow.

My stomach turned over.

He had bribed someone at the clinic.

Suddenly, a second notification flashed at the top of my screen.

An incoming text from an unknown local number.

I tapped it.

There was no text, only a single image.

It was a photograph of the front of my apartment building.

A black SUV was parked across the street, its headlights on in the gathering dusk.

I shoved the phone toward Grace.

She took it, her thumb scrolling through the image, her face hardening into a mask of pure concentration.

Without a word, she rose from her chair and walked to the window.

She pulled back the heavy cream curtain just an inch.

Down below, the streetlights had flickered on, casting a yellow glare over the wet pavement.