He followed the paper trail instead of his temper. David, the lawyer he’d once dismissed as “hers,” didn’t gloat; he just slid documents forward like quiet detonations. Phone records showed calls rerouted, numbers blocked from the inside. Screenshots of messages he’d never written, timestamps that overlapped with nights he’d been blacked out in someone else’s apartment. Hospital intake forms captured Emily’s handwriting beside the word “complication,” while his own emergency contact box sat empty. Then came the access logs: his fiancée’s credentials inside company servers at 2:13 a.m., authorizing transfers that looked like bribes, forwarding edited voicemails to his account. Every signature he recognized became a question mark. The story he’d told himself—that he was the abandoned, righteous victim—began to rot at the edges. By the time David pushed across the final folder, labeled simply “Custody Options,” Michael’s certainty had shrunk to a single, terrifying syllable: wha… Continues…