“Twelve hours, Clara. I have the draft of the complaint ready. I just need to hit send.”

I stared at the screen, my heart thumping against my ribs.

“What are you going to do?” Lauren asked.

“I don’t know yet,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “But I’m not giving her another dime.”

I stood up, leaving a five-dollar bill on the table for Lauren’s coffee.

“Keep that video,” I told her. “I might need it sooner than you think.”

“I have more,” Lauren said. “Receipts, lease agreements, everything. Just let me know.”

I nodded, walked out into the freezing night, and drove back to my apartment.

The hallway of my building smelled of old cabbage and damp carpets, a familiar scent that usually brought me comfort.

Tonight, it felt like a trap.

I unlocked my door, the brass deadbolt clicking into place, and walked into the dark living room.

I didn’t turn on the lights.

I sat on the edge of my small sofa, looking out the window at the distant headlights on the shoreway.