“Take your brat and go to hell,” my husband hissed at my 7-year-old during our 10 AM divorce hearing. “The ruling is finalized. He gets everything,” his lawyer smirked.

The word cracked across the room like a slap.

Noah flinched.

I bent toward him. “You’re safe.”

Daniel saw it. Maybe he remembered every moment he had mistaken gentleness for weakness.

Then the doors opened.

Two people entered.

One was Mara, in a gray coat, her face pale with fear.

The other was Special Agent Ruiz from financial crimes.