It was a draft of a motion for emergency custody of Lucas and Mason.

The motion argued that my mother’s rising medical bills had depleted my savings, rendering me financially unstable and unfit to provide a secure home.

“He’s going to use my mother’s medical bills to take the boys,” I whispered to Martha.

Before she could answer, a loud, heavy knock rattled the front door of the house.

Martha grabbed my arm, her fingers cold and tight against my skin.

“Don’t answer it,” she whispered.

The knock came again, louder this time, shaking the thin wood of the front door.

I pulled away from Martha and walked into the hallway.

The floorboards groaned under my feet.

I looked through the small peephole.

A man in a dark gray suit stood on the porch, holding a thick manila envelope.

Behind him, the headlights of a black SUV cut through the falling rain.

I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

“Emily Carter?” the man asked, his voice flat.

“Yes,” I said.

He thrust the envelope into my hands.