I stood my ground, my hands folded flat against my white apron.

My heart hammered against my ribs, but my voice remained steady when I spoke.

“I did not forge it, Mr. Hawthorne,” I said.

“And I did not cut the power.”

“You know the truth of those words because you know her heart.”

Celeste glared at me, her eyes reflecting the red emergency light like a predator in the dark.

“You are a liar,” Celeste spat.

“You want his money, you want his name, and you want this boy.”

She reached out as if to grab Ethan, but the boy stepped back, pressing himself against his father’s side.

Ethan’s small hand gripped the fabric of Alexander’s trousers.

“She didn’t write it, Father,” Ethan whispered, looking up.

“I know Elena’s handwriting.”

“She writes the grocery lists every Monday.”

“This is different.”

Alexander placed a heavy, protective hand on his son’s shoulder.

“It is Eleanor’s private seal,” Alexander said, his voice flat and dangerous.

“The one she used before we were married.”

“The one we agreed never to use in public.”