The judge read the line slowly, her voice flat. “Make her look unstable, file first, and the court will hand us the baby.” Nobody on the video call moved. Derek’s jaw tightened, and Sandra’s hand slid toward her screen as if she could switch off the camera. “Your Honor, that email was taken out of context,” she said. The judge did not look up. “It carries a timestamp, Mrs. Whitmore, and it came from your own address.”

Marguerite leaned toward me and whispered, “There is a second attachment.” I scrolled to it, and my breath caught. It was a photograph of a notarized page with my name on it, dated the week I gave birth, while I was still lying in a hospital bed. Beneath it sat a notary stamp from a county I had never visited. Derek lowered his eyes.