I stopped pushing the swing.

Harrison let out a small whine of protest.

“Wait a second, sweetie,” I whispered.

Julian stopped ten feet away.

The wind blew his coat open, revealing his pressed shirt.

“You really thought you could hide here?” he said.

His voice was low, carrying a familiar, cold authority.

“You took my son, Elena.”

I did not stand up.

I kept my hand inside my pocket, resting against the warm plastic of the recorder.

“Julian,” I said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“We are going home,” he said, taking another step forward. “Now.”

“We are going home,” he said, taking another step forward. “Now.”

I didn’t move.

I kept my hand on the small recording device in my coat pocket and felt the cold plastic against my fingers.

“The court order is very clear, Julian,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected.

“You are not allowed within five hundred feet of me or Harrison.”

Julian let out a short, harsh laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

“We are in Maine, Elena,” he said, looking around the empty park.