Once they were out of earshot, Michael handed me his phone. On the screen was a particularly vicious article, complete with photos of me entering my office building, side-by-side with old pictures from our marriage.

"Jessica did this," he said, voice low and dangerous. "From jail. Miller's been feeding her information on your routine, your schedule. They've been planning this for weeks."

"How could she know so much about our fertility treatments?" I whispered. "Those details were private."

Michael's jaw tightened. "My mother. Years ago, before she..." he hesitated, "...came around. She kept extensive notes on everything. Jessica must have had access."

"Your mother?" Betrayal, fresh and sharp, lanced through...