Emily had not been paranoid. She had been collecting proof.

Screenshots. Call logs. Photos of receipts. A forwarded message that read: He told me Richard would believe anything if Daniel cried hard enough.

I read that line in the sheriff’s office two days later, while Emily slept under observation. I read it twice.

Then I folded my hands on the table, because I didn’t trust them loose.

Daniel had not only betrayed my daughter. He had studied me. He had counted on my trust. He had built his escape route through the part of me that still wanted to believe family could be handled at a kitchen table.

But Emily had known better by then.