As soon as his message landed, notifications from my eldest brother and Jack flooded the screen.
My phone buzzed with a flurry of notifications. The family group chat was blowing up.
Jordan, my eldest brother, didn't waste words. "Lettie, I've got this handled. If Rhys refuses to sign the papers, I'll pull every contract we have with his company. I'll bankrupt him before the ink dries."
Then came Jack. I could practically hear him cracking his knuckles through the screen. "Damn right. Say the word, Lettie, and I'll send a few guys over to break his legs. Teach him a lesson he won't forget."
Mom and my sisters-in-law flooded the chat with warmth, promising they were already at the hospital and urging me to focus only on the baby.
The knot in my chest loosened. The cold sting of betrayal gave way to steady warmth. I might have lost a husband, but I still had an army.
I placed a hand on my belly, breathing steady. We're going to be okay, I told the little one.
Just as I pulled up to the hospital entrance, my phone rang. Unknown number. Distracted, I answered automatically.
"Honey!" Rhys's voice came through, breathless and frantic. "I fell running back to the house. You weren't there. I've been calling and calling—where are you? Let me come get you. Please, think of the baby."
Impressive performance. But before I could respond, the phone was wrestled away. A new voice came on—sickly sweet and trembling.
"Scarlett? It's Emily. Please don't be mad at Rhys anymore."
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
"I forced him to help me park," she continued, her voice pitching into a whine. "It has nothing to do with him. He's been running in circles trying to find you. He hasn't even eaten because he's so worried you'll take the baby and do something rash."
A dramatic sniffle. "If you're still angry, I'll come apologize right now. You can hit me, scold me, whatever you want. Just... please tell us where you are. I don't want to be the reason you two fight."
Her voice was thick with tears, painting herself as the aggrieved, self-sacrificing victim. A masterclass in manipulation. To a man, she sounded like a fragile flower being crushed. To me, the malice dripping from every word was unmistakable.
I let out a cold laugh. "You want to apologize?"
"Yes, anything," she sobbed.
"Fine. Slap yourself. Right now."
Silence—then a sharp, crisp crack.