"Evan, listen to me," Sabrina began, taking a half-step forward. Her heels clicked sharply against the tile. "She manipulated you. She’s been living in the guesthouse for four years, taking your money, taking your kindness, letting you play the sweet, benevolent landlord while she kept your own child from you! She’s a liar, Evan! I did this for—"
"Silence."
The word didn't come out as a shout. It was a flat, icy directive that cut through Sabrina’s panic like a blade. Evan didn't look up at her. His eyes remained fixed on the angry, purple discoloration spreading across Leah’s upper back, already swelling dangerously.
"You don't get to speak right now, Sabrina," Evan said, his tone devoid of warmth, devoid of the familiar affection they had shared for the past two years. "You brought a weapon into my home. You struck a woman from behind. You did it in front of a child."
"She pushed me!" Sabrina gasped, her voice cracking into a defensive pitch. "She was hiding things! I found the papers in her desk—the birth certificate, the blood work! I was coming to show you! She tried to grab them from me—"