She giggled. “God, I can’t wait until this house is ours.“
I froze. Custody? Our house?
But it wasn’t just talk. Because a moment later, Tommy’s voice drifted in.
“Molly?” he asked, innocent as ever.
“Yes, baby?”
“Can I call you Mommy now?”
My vision blurred.
Everything clicked. The piercing. The repeated comments. The way he said it with such certainty.
Shocked woman using a laptop | Source: Pexels
He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t pretending.
She’d been training him. They both had. My husband and the woman I paid to protect my children were plotting to rip them away from me.
They thought they were untouchable, but they forgot something. I’ve buried people in court for less.
And this time, it’s personal.
By the next morning, I had already made three calls — my divorce attorney, a forensic tech, and a judge I’d worked with closely over the years. When you’re a lawyer, you don’t show your cards. You position them. Quietly. Strategically.
