Victoria took the phone, her eyes narrowing as she watched the screen.

“This is perfect,” Victoria said. “And the timestamp?”

“It was posted at midnight, Denver time,” Laura said. “Exactly three hours after Emma’s surgery ended.”

“And what about the phone logs?” Thomas asked, stepping forward. “I called Ryan twenty-two times from the hospital lobby.”

“I called him too,” I said. “Before I passed out. I called him from the bathroom floor.”

Victoria’s face hardened into a mask of pure determination.

“We need those logs,” she said. “We need every call, every text, and every unanswered plea.”

She looked at me, her eyes steady.

“We are going to show the judge that the only unfit parent in this family is the one who was drinking champagne in Aspen while his wife bled out.”

My phone, lying on the bedside table, suddenly lit up.

The screen flashed with a new text message.

It was from an unknown number.

I reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the device.

The message was brief.

*The baby is ours, Emma. Don’t make us prove how crazy you really are.*