After eight months of military service, I finally came home—only to find my newborn son dangerously ill and my wife sitting beside his crib, shaken and clearly hurt. My mother looked at me coldly and said, “She needed to learn her place,” while my sister shrugged and added, “The baby is her responsibility, not ours.”

”

I turned to Sophia.

“How long has this been happening?”

Her eyes filled.

“Since two weeks after you left. They said you gave them authority over me. They showed me messages from your number.”

Naomi laid several printed records beside the tablet.

“Those messages came from a cloned account created on Audrey’s laptop.”

Audrey backed away.

“You can’t prove I continue reading …