“She’s tiny,” he said.
“They both are,” I whispered.
He nodded, collected himself, and turned to Ethan.
For a moment, I thought he might strike him.
Instead, he extended a hand.
Ethan took it.
My father leaned close and said quietly, “My daughter nearly died giving you children. Your mother tried to steal one. Choose your next words carefully every day for the rest of your life.”
Ethan did not defend himself.
“I will,” he said.
That answer saved him from whatever came next.
My father sat beside me, opened his folder, and removed copies of emails, notes, phone logs, and one printed photograph that made my blood run cold.
It was Lily.
Standing outside our house.
Three months earlier.
Beside her was a man I recognized only from nightmares whispered at courthouse briefings.
Caleb Rusk.
The brother of Adrian Rusk, the defendant I had sentenced last spring.
The same man who had shouted across my courtroom that blood answers blood.
I stared at the photograph.
“What is this?”
My father’s voice was grim. “A private investigator sent it to me anonymously this morning.”
Daniel took the photo.
His face changed.
“Where did this come from?”
“No return address. No message. Just the picture.”
Ethan looked between us. “Who is he?”
I could barely hear myself. “A courthouse threat.”
Ethan reached for the foot of the bed, as if the room had rolled beneath him.
My father continued. “Caleb Rusk disappeared after violating parole. State police have been looking for him for two months.”
Daniel’s phone vibrated. He read the screen, and the last of the color left his face.
“What?” I asked.
He looked at me, then at my father.