She had helped plan to take my child; I would not forget that, and I did not forgive it.

But she had also been fed the same flattering poison I had — told a story about herself she wanted to believe, promised a future by a man who was already lying to her in the telling.

He had used her trust the way he’d used mine, just aimed in a different direction.

She’d figured it out one betrayal sooner than the world would have, and had chosen, at real cost to herself, to walk it into my lawyer’s office instead of taking her share and staying quiet.

It didn’t make her good.