I took her hand, squeezing it gently. “And after that… let’s get married. Fast. No more waiting. This weekend, even. Just us, at the courthouse, then a small reception. What do you say?”
“YES!” She threw her arms around me, kissing me deeply. “This weekend! I’ll handle everything. Oh, Ethan, we’re going to have the most amazing life.”
I smiled against her hair, but inside, my heart was steel.
---
The next three days were a whirlwind of calculated deception. Jenna was a tornado of excitement. She booked the courthouse for Saturday morning, invited a handful of her close friends and family, and even ordered a simple white dress online with overnight shipping. She started casually mentioning to people how “overwhelmed” I was with the twins and how “brave” it would be to make the hard choice.
I, meanwhile, was building my case.
First, I installed hidden voice-activated recorders in the living room and kitchen—small devices I bought from an electronics store and hid carefully. I told Jenna I was taking the girls to “special grief counseling” sessions Thursday and Friday after school. In reality, I took them to a quiet park and told them the truth, as gently as a ten-year-old could handle.
“Jenna said some very mean things,” I explained, sitting on a bench while they ate ice cream. Lily’s eyes filled with tears. Maya’s face went blank, the way it did when she was protecting herself.
“She doesn’t want us,” Lily whispered.
“She never did,” I said, pulling them both into a hug. “But I do. I want you forever. You’re my sisters. We’re staying together. I’m going to fix this, but I need your help to stay brave for a little longer. Can you do that?”
They nodded solemnly. Maya squeezed my hand extra tight. “We love you, Ethan.”
“I love you more.”
I met with a family lawyer on Thursday afternoon—Sarah Kline, a sharp woman in her forties recommended by a colleague. I played her the first recordings I’d captured: Jenna telling the girls to lie at the adoption interview, the phone call with Karen. Sarah’s face hardened.
