Chapter 2 - THE FILE
I sat on the kitchen floor with the envelope in my lap for almost a minute before I opened it.
My hands would not stop shaking.
Inside were thirty-two pages.
The first page had my name at the top.
Rachel Carter.
Under it was a list of accusations: neglect, emotional instability, unsafe work hours, failure to provide regular meals, inappropriate anger, abandonment of parental duties.
“She did this on purpose,” I whispered.
The petition had not been filed yet, but it was almost finished. Several sections had already been notarized. Diane described herself as the children’s “primary daily caregiver” and claimed she had been forced to step in because I was unable to cope after my husband Michael’s death.
Behind the petition were staged photographs of an empty refrigerator, a bare pantry, Lily without a plate, and Noah beside a trash can.
I knew the scenes were false because I remembered exactly when each picture had been taken.
Then I found a page labeled INCIDENT LOG.
Diane had kept dates and times.
April 6: Lily asks neighbors for snacks.
April 19: Children complain mother is never home.
May 3: Lily cries at dinner and says she is hungry.
June 12: Rachel returns late and becomes verbally aggressive.
The last entry was dated tomorrow.
September 11: Emergency intervention requested due to immediate danger.
Tomorrow.
My phone almost slipped out of my hand.
I called Maya Reyes, my oldest friend and the only family attorney I trusted enough to wake at midnight.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Rachel?”
“I need you to tell me I’m reading this wrong.”
I sent her photographs of the documents.
She was silent for a long time.
Then she said, “Do not contact Diane. Do not delete anything. Do not let anyone into your house without checking who they are.”
My heart began pounding harder.
“Maya, what is this?”
“It’s a custody setup,” she said. “And Rachel…”
“What?”
“The hearing date is already stamped on page twenty-seven.”
I flipped through the papers.
May you like
My breath stopped.
The hearing was scheduled for nine o’clock the next morning.
