People I had never met were calling me a criminal.
A gold digger.
A sociopath.
One comment said:
Someone should find where she’s hiding.
Another:
Women like this deserve prison.
I sat completely still.
Tessa walked into the room.
“Olivia?”
I placed the phone down.
For several seconds, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Then something inside me became very calm.
I opened my laptop.
Created a new folder.
And began uploading everything.
The picture of the grease stain.
The dirty rag.
Mason’s messages.
The police documentation.
The bank-transfer records.
Screenshots of Savannah’s harassment.
I called Rachel.
“I’m responding.”
She paused.
“Stick to facts.”
“I will.”
“No addresses. No private information unrelated to the dispute. No insults.”
“Understood.”
“Olivia?”
“Yes?”
“Assume every sentence you write will someday be printed and handed to a judge.”
I looked at Mason’s smiling wedding photograph on my screen.
“That’s fine.”
