Until three weeks ago.
That afternoon I was watering the roses when a black sedan pulled up outside my gate.
Vanessa stepped out.
She looked almost exactly the same as she had ten years earlier—just more polished.
A man in a suit stepped out beside her.
A lawyer.
She didn’t ask how the boys were.
She didn’t even look toward the house.
Instead, she handed me a thick envelope.
“Custody papers,” she said calmly.
My heart dropped.
Later that evening, after the boys had gone upstairs, Vanessa cornered me in the kitchen.
