By ten past ten we were standing out on the front walk.

That afternoon at the Scottsdale station, a clerk stamped a copy of the report and slid it under the glass.

Outside, David leaned on his car and clicked his pen.

“He reported it as a trespass and a disturbance.

No charges, no arrest.

On paper it’ll look like a bad afternoon in a bad marriage.”

“How long before a family court judge hears any of it?”

“Six weeks.