Richard nodded politely after signing his own. There were no promises and no kiss. Just two people building enough legal shelter to keep three children together.

We’d barely finished when his phone rang, and his face changed.

It was the hospital. The forensic handwriting expert — the one who could prove my signature had been forged — had been in a serious traffic accident. He was alive.

But the certified copy of his report was gone.

Someone had reached him before justice could.

Then investigators recovered the expert’s cellphone, and Richard unlocked it. Inside was a voice message recorded minutes before the crash.