She also traced the burner phone that sent the threatening text directly to a corporate account owned by Margaret’s family foundation.

“They handed us the rope to hang them with,” Helen said on the fourth morning.

She adjusted her navy suit jacket and locked her briefcase with a sharp snap.

“Today, we finish this,” Helen said.

We drove to the Denver County Courthouse under a gray, heavy sky.

The courthouse was cold, the marble floors echoing with the sound of our footsteps.

The hearing room was private, closed to the public to protect Ethan’s privacy.

I sat at the petitioner’s table, holding a small pink blanket that smelled like my son.

Laura sat directly behind me, her hand resting on my shoulder.

Thomas sat on my left, his presence like a solid brick wall.

The heavy oak door opened, and Ryan walked in, followed by Margaret and a team of three lawyers.

Ryan looked disheveled, his blue tie slightly crooked and his eyes bloodshot.

Margaret looked immaculate in a gray wool suit, her chin held high, though her eyes flared with anger when she saw Thomas.