“I will do no such thing,” she said.

“You can’t prove any of this would hold up in a court of law.”

“These are just receipts.”

“Anyone could have bought those groceries.”

“Anyone could have broken that mower.”

“You have no signatures on these bills, Annie.”

I smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

“I don’t need your signature on the receipts, Juliette.”

“I have the text messages from you and your children.”

I tapped the thick back section of the binder.

“I printed every text message where Tommy admitted to crashing the mower.”

“I printed the email where you thanked me for buying the ribeyes because you ‘forgot your purse.'”

“And I have the security camera footage from the driveway showing the septic truck.”

The kitchen was dead silent now.

Even the cicadas outside seemed to have stopped their buzzing.

The humid air felt thick, pressing down on us like a wet blanket.

Dan looked at his mother, his expression hardening.

“Mom,” he said quietly. “Just sign it.”

“Absolutely not,” Juliette snapped, her voice cracking.

“She is blackmailing us in our own son’s house.”