“But the court,” I cried. “If she files that paperwork tomorrow morning, a judge will sign the emergency order.”

“Not if we show the judge it is a fabrication,” he replied.

The front doorbell rang, the sound echoing through the large house.

My heart leaped into my throat.

“Is that Nora?” I asked.

“It’s too early for her,” Richard said, his brow furrowing.

He stood up and walked toward the foyer.

I followed him, my legs feeling like lead.

Mrs. Alvarez was already opening the heavy oak front door.

A man in a yellow slicker stood on the porch, water dripping from his cap.

He held a thick, manila envelope wrapped in plastic to protect it from the storm.

“Delivery for Emily Carter,” the courier said.

“I will take that,” Richard said, stepping forward.

The courier handed it over, signed a digital pad, and walked back into the rain.

Richard closed the door and locked it.

He carried the wet package to the dining table.

With a pocket knife, he sliced through the plastic and tore open the envelope.