The house was pitch black when I pulled into the gravel driveway at exactly 5:48 in the morning.

By 9:00 AM, my phone had 47 missed calls from Julian and 12 from Chloe.

I ignored them all while I sat in the pristine, glass-walled conference room of Vance & Associates. Marcus Vance sat across from me, a silver-haired shark in a three-piece suit, slowly swiping through the photos on my phone.

"Impeccable documentation," Marcus murmured, sliding the phone back to me. "But adultery alone, while emotionally devastating, doesn't always yield the absolute destruction you're looking for in this state. The division of assets is usually fifty-fifty."

"I don't care about the money," I said, my voice tight. "I care about custody. Look at the last photo. Look at my daughter."

Marcus looked at the picture I had taken of Maya sleeping under the table, her little lips slightly blue.

"This changes the game," Marcus said, his eyes narrowing. "This is child endangerment. Willful neglect. Do you have documentation of the home's temperature?"

"I pulled up our smart-thermostat app this morning," I said, sliding a printed screenshot across the table. "Julian manually turned the heat off at 1:00 AM. It dropped to 52 degrees in the house. He turned it off because Chloe complains about forced air drying out her skin."

Marcus smiled, and it was a terrifying expression. "Oh, we are going to eviscerate him. Have you checked your joint financials?"

"Not yet."

Marcus turned his laptop around. He had already pulled public records and requested expedited bank statements through a contact. "Your husband has been withdrawing two thousand dollars in cash every week for the last eight months from the joint savings account meant for Maya’s college fund. Furthermore, the lease on Chloe’s downtown apartment? Julian is the guarantor. He’s been paying her rent."

The room spun. Eight months. They had been doing this for eight months while I worked 80-hour night shifts to keep us afloat.

My phone buzzed on the table. It was Julian again.

"Answer it," Marcus instructed, hitting record on his dictaphone. "Keep him talking."

I swiped green and put it on speaker. "Hello."

"Oh my god, finally!" Julian’s voice was frantic, dripping with manufactured panic. "Honey, please, you have to listen to me! It’s not what it looked like!"

"You were naked in our guest bed with my sister," I said flatly. "What did it look like?"

"I was drunk! She manipulated me! She told me you were going to leave me because of your hours, and I was just so lonely!" He was crying now. Fake, pathetic tears. "Please, bring Maya home. We can go to counseling. Do not throw ten years away over one stupid mistake!"

"You let my daughter freeze on the floor, Julian."

"She was fine! You're being hysterical! You always blow things out of proportion with your medical drama!" Julian snapped, the mask slipping instantly. "Bring my kid back, or I'm calling the cops for kidnapping!"

"Call them," I said. "I'm sure they'd love to see the security footage from the hallway camera you forgot I installed last month."