I looked at the small, perfect, sleeping person who had been carried home, three days old, to a locked door and a downpour, by a father who told her mother to figure something out.

“Ethan locked a woman three days postpartum and her newborn baby outside in the rain,” I said.

“Meanwhile, his family is on vacation, wearing jewelry they took from my home without permission, planning in a group chat to sign my house over to his mother.

That is who these people are.

That is what they think they can do to me, and to her.” I looked back at Andrew.

“Yes.