When we left the courtroom, Margaret hurried past me, refusing to meet my gaze.
“It’s not over,” she said.
Robert put a hand on my shoulder. “Actually, yes. And there’s still one thing she doesn’t know yet.”
By sunset, I had new keys to my house. Robert had sent a locksmith to make sure Margaret couldn’t pull another fast one.
When we parked in the driveway, the children jumped out of the car excitedly, but they stopped dead in their tracks at the sight before them. Margaret’s belongings were piled on the sidewalk in the same black garbage bags she had used for ours.
