“You won’t win this,” he whispered.

“I have copies of every email you sent during your postpartum depression.”

“I have medical records showing you weren’t stable.”

“We’ll see who the court believes.”

The officer shoved him gently into the back seat of the SUV and slammed the door.

The tint on the window was so dark I couldn’t see his face anymore.

I got into the front seat of Marcus’s car.

The heater was blowing warm air, smelling of leather and expensive cologne.

I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes.

My phone buzzed again.

It was a text from the nanny at the house.

*Maisie is asleep. She had her bottle at three.*

I let out a breath I felt like I had been holding for months.

“To the corporate office, Marcus,” I said.

He shifted the car into reverse and backed away from the tarmac.

The drive into the city was quiet.

The gray sky over the Schuylkill Expressway was beginning to spit rain.

Drops smeared across the windshield, blurring the brake lights of the cars ahead of us.