The initial sign of the turmoil to come arrived as an early morning knock on my door. It wasn’t a courteous knock, either—it was quick and demanding as if the individual on the opposite side couldn’t hold on for another moment.
I shuffled to the door in my slippers, sleepy and unready. The past few days had been a chaotic mix of Andrew’s unexpected return, Ryan's menaces, and my ineffective efforts to remain stable. When I glanced through the peephole, my heart dropped.
Journalists.
Cameras and microphones ready, their expressions eager for a statement.
Panic surged through my entire being. I hurriedly moved back, my heart pounding as they banged once more.
“Ms. Green, we only want a statement!” one of them yelled.
"What are your thoughts on Andrew Sinclair's custody arrangements?" another asked.
My breath caught. Custody plans? What is he saying about me now?