He trotted down the hall, and I followed, locking his door from the outside the way Mia had told me—quietly, gently, as if it were just part of the morning routine. Then I returned to the entryway, phone in hand, and called the non-emergency line.
“I have two people at my residence,” I told the dispatcher. “My estranged husband and his mother. I’m requesting an officer for a civil standby. I do not consent to them being on my property.”
Outside, Diane’s mouth moved in sharp bursts. Even without audio, I could tell she was lecturing the door. Evan hovered beside her, glancing around like he expected cameras—because now he knew I had resources.
I didn’t feel powerful. I felt tired.
My phone buzzed with a text from Evan: Open the door. We can fix this.
Then another: You took my son. That’s kidnapping.
