I had gone into the other room to feed Lily, holding her close, her small, warm body the only anchor keeping me from falling apart.

When I returned to the office, Grace was standing by the window, her phone in her hand.

“The SUV just turned its lights off,” she said.

I rushed to her side and looked out.

The dark vehicle remained parked, but the engine was dead, the exhaust gone.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Before Grace could answer, her personal cell phone on the desk began to ring, its loud tone shattering the quiet of the office.

We both stared at the screen.

It was not Adrian’s number.

It was an unlisted Manhattan area code, the type used by high-end corporate firms.

Grace reached out and answered it, her voice turning instantly professional.

“Grace Monroe speaking.”

She listened for a moment, her expression shifting from cautious to intensely focused.

She looked directly at me, her eyes widening slightly as she gripped the receiver.

“Yes, Mrs. Whitmore,” Grace said, her voice dropping into her formal litigation tone.