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Instead he found a timeline of court records, copies of adoption papers, and photos.
Rosie at six in ballerina sheets. Rosie at nine with a science fair ribbon.
His face drained of color.
“What is this?” he snapped.
“This is the last 16 years,” I said. “This is every time you didn’t show up.”
He shoved the papers back into the envelope like they burned.
“You think this scares me?” he hissed.
“If she doesn’t pay, I’ll destroy her. I’ll tell everyone she stole you.”
Rosie set her phone on the table, screen glowing, red recording dot blinking.
“Say it again,” she said, louder. “Say how you threatened my mom’s business for fifty thousand dollars.”
Rosie sagged against me, whispering, “I’m not leaving ever again.”
Rosie and I talked through what happened that night, and we searched for any more relatives of hers.
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