Up and down the street, neighbors drifted onto their balconies to watch.

I didn’t shout back.

There are speakers mounted by the gate, and I used them — not for insults.

I played the recording of that afternoon: her own voice ordering my sick mother to cook in the heat, and then, a moment later, her own voice saying that once Dashiell had full custody, I’d be made to pay for their whole lives.

The street went very quiet.

A neighbor who’d spent years listening to Corinna brag about her son’s cars folded her arms on her balcony.