The divorce, when it came, was swift, and it was not close.

I had spent fifteen years learning that in a crisis, the person with the clearest record and the calmest documentation wins, and I had, without quite meaning to, been documenting from the moment I read that first text.

The timeline.

The phone carrier records.

The text logs from Julian Vance, in his own words, instructing my wife to leave the children.

The physical reality of a four-hour abandonment, with a child witness.