I knew something was wrong the moment I pulled into the driveway.

I came downstairs slowly.

There was a man in my hallway I had never seen before.

He was in his forties, wearing a jacket despite the warmth, and he was holding a manila envelope.

He looked at me when I appeared on the stairs, and something in his expression shifted — a small recalibration, the way people look when they've been told one version of a person and the actual person doesn't match it.

Renee stood beside him.

Damon was slightly behind her, arms at his sides.

"Nadia," Renee said.

"This is Warren Cole.

He's a private investigator."

I came the rest of the way down the stairs.

"He's been documenting your schedule," Renee continued.

"For the past six weeks.

We have records of your departures and arrivals, your travel dates, the days Maya was home without you."

Warren Cole did not look comfortable.

He held the envelope without offering it.

"You hired a private investigator," I said.

"To follow me."

"To document the situation."

"You followed me." I looked at the man directly.

"For six weeks."

He cleared his throat.

"Ma'am, I was engaged to—"

"I'm not speaking to you." I looked back at Renee.

"You had someone follow me.

While I was working.

While I was picking up my daughter from school.

While I was living my life in my own house."

"The documentation supports the petition."

"The documentation is going to my attorney tonight." I held out my hand toward Warren Cole.

"The envelope."

He glanced at Renee.

She gave a small nod.

He handed it to me.

I opened it at the hallway table.

Printed pages.

Dates, times, photographs taken from a distance.

My car in a parking lot.

Me walking into my office building.

Me at Maya's school pickup, holding her hand.

A photograph of me and my daughter holding hands, used as evidence that I was an unfit mother.

"You need to leave my house," I said to Warren Cole.

He left without being asked twice.

I turned to Renee.

"You have until tomorrow morning."

"Excuse me?"

"The motion to remove you from this property was filed this afternoon.

A judge will sign it tomorrow.

You can leave tonight with your dignity, or you can be escorted out tomorrow morning without it.

Those are your two options."

Renee's chin came up.

"You think a judge is going to side with you over a concerned family member who has documented evidence—"

"The evidence is photographs of me doing my job and raising my child." I set the envelope on the table.

"Your own attorney withdrew because she wouldn't file something she considered a weapon.

That is going to be in front of a judge too."

"Damon." Renee turned to him.

"Tell her."

Damon looked at the envelope on the table.

Then he looked at me.

Then he looked at his sister.

"Tell her what, Renee?"

Renee's expression flickered.

"Tell her that you support this.

That you want what's best for Maya."

"I do want what's best for Maya."

"Then tell her."

Damon was quiet for a long moment.

When he spoke, his voice was lower than I had heard it in years.

"I think you should go to the hotel tonight," he said.

"I'll bring your bag down."

Renee stared at him.

"What?"

"I'll bring your bag down," he said again.

"Give me ten minutes."

The silence that followed was the loudest thing in the room.

Renee looked at me.

The smile was gone.

What replaced it was something harder and colder, and when she spoke, her voice had dropped to something that was not quite a threat but was not far from one.

"You think this is over," she said.

"It isn't."

"Goodnight, Renee," I said.

She picked up her coat from the chair by the door.

She didn't look at Damon again.

When the door closed behind her, neither of us spoke for a moment.

Then Damon said, "I'm sorry."

I picked up the envelope from the table.

"I know," I said.