I turned the page.

More dates.

More amounts.

Beside some entries, Rachel had written, “chores completed.”

“What is this?” I demanded.

Rachel reached for the notebook again.

“It’s nothing.

Give it back.”

Emma clung tighter to my shirt.

“Aunt Rachel takes pictures,” she whispered.

Rachel froze.

“Pictures of what?”

Emma pointed toward the kitchen.

“Me cleaning.

She says someone pays her when I’m good.”

I felt sick.

“Who pays you, Rachel?”

“No one.

She’s confused.”

Then Rachel’s phone lit up on the patio table.

A message appeared across the screen.

Did Michael sign the custody papers yet?

I won’t send the final payment until he does.

I stared at her.

“Custody papers?”

Rachel grabbed the phone, but I caught her wrist.

“Who sent that?”

Her confidence vanished.

“Michael, I can explain.”

Emma lifted her tear-streaked face.

“Daddy, she made me practice writing your name.”

My hands began shaking.

I flipped to the notebook’s final page.

A folded document was tucked inside.

At the bottom was a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.

Then someone knocked hard on the front door.

Rachel whispered, “Please don’t answer that.”

Why had Rachel copied Michael’s signature—and who was waiting outside?

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