One drawing showed a large, dark house with bars on the windows and a tiny figure inside.

“This is Nolan’s drawing of his father’s house,” I said.

Another drawing showed a bright yellow house with two figures holding hands under a sky full of stars.

“And this is our apartment,” I whispered.

Sarah traced the dark lines of the first drawing with her thumb.

“These are powerful, Claire,” she said. “The child advocate, Renee Whitaker, will want to see these immediately.”

Next, I placed my legal logbook on the desk.

It was a thick, spiral-bound notebook filled with my neat, black handwriting.

“This is every single visitation exchange for the past two years,” I said.

“Every time Grant was late, every time he smelled like scotch, and every missed phone call.”

Sarah flipped through the pages, her eyes widening slightly at the level of detail.

“This is incredibly meticulous,” she said. “Most parents don’t keep records like this.”

“I had to,” I said. “He made me feel like I was losing my mind, so I started writing everything down to prove to myself that I wasn’t.”