The trooper walked past our sedan, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel shoulder of the highway.

He approached Richard, who stood with his hands raised halfway, his face pale under the strobe of the emergency lights.

“Sir, step away from the vehicle,” the trooper ordered, his hand resting on his holster.

Richard looked back at our car, his eyes searching the dark windshield for me.

He looked smaller than he ever had in our twenty years of marriage.

I rolled down my window, the cold air hitting my face like a physical slap.

“Officer!” I called out, my voice steadier than I felt. “We need help.”

The trooper turned his flashlight toward our car, blinding me for a second.

I opened my door and stepped out onto the cold asphalt, ignoring Rose’s hand reaching to stop me.

“My husband has our daughter’s birth records in his car,” I said to the trooper. “They are forged.”

Richard took a step toward me, his hands trembling in the wind.

“Evelyn, please,” he said. “Don’t do this here.”

“Stay where you are, sir,” the trooper snapped, pointing his flashlight directly into Richard’s eyes.