Inside were certified paternity results, hospital intake reports from the night of the storm, photographs of my frostbitten fingers, and a signed affidavit confirming Jason had locked us out during a declared weather emergency. There was also a temporary restraining order approved three days ago.
Susan had filed it all within forty-eight hours of meeting me.
“Men like him rely on silence,” she told me. “So we take that away.”
Tonight, Jason’s wedding reception looked like something out of a bridal magazine. Crystal chandeliers shimmered above a polished ballroom floor. White roses lined the stage. A string quartet played softly near the windows.
His new bride, Emily Rogers, stood beside him in satin and lace, glowing under soft lighting. She looked certain she had chosen well.
I stood at the back of the ballroom in a plain black coat, Liam asleep against my chest. His warm breath fogged the fabric near my collarbone. My coat didn’t belong in that room, and neither did the truth.
People noticed me almost immediately.
Whispers rippled outward.
Phones lifted.