Not the agreement.
A receipt acknowledging delivery. My attorney taught me the difference years earlier after my father died and left me an empire hidden inside painfully boring paperwork.
Then I looked up.
“Congratulations,” I whispered.
Daniel exhaled like he had won.
Vanessa crossed the room and rested her hand on his arm.
I stood slowly, my daughter against my chest, blood warm between my thighs, spine straight as a blade.
“You have thirty minutes,” I said.
Daniel frowned. “For what?”
“To leave my house.”
His face darkened.
Vanessa laughed.
That was her first mistake…
