The echo of the front door slamming shut hung in the quiet apartment like a heavy fog. I stood in the entry hallway for what felt like an eternity, looking down at the small pink blanket lying on the wooden floor where I had dropped it.

She had violated the 500-yard restraining order.

She was standing right next to the driver’s side door of my Audi, holding a small paper bag. Her hair was messy, her clothes looked unwashed, and the sweet, victimized facade she presented to the internet was completely gone.

I stopped twenty feet away, pulling my phone from my pocket and instantly activating the video recorder while hitting the emergency speed-dial for the San Diego Police Department.

"Stay right there, Bernice," I commanded, holding my phone high so she knew she was being recorded. "You are in direct violation of a court order. Officers are on their way."

Bernice didn't flinch. She took three slow steps toward me, her eyes manic and bloodshot.

"You think a piece of paper stops a mother, Christopher?" she laughed—a dry, terrifying sound that rattled in her chest. "I gave you life! I fed you when your father died with nothing in his bank account! I sacrificed everything for you!"

"You beat my wife!" I shouted, my voice booming across the concrete garage. "You laid hands on a pregnant woman!"

"She took you from me!" Bernice screamed, dropping her paper bag to the floor. "The moment you brought her home with her expensive clothes, her trust fund, her fancy family... you stopped looking at me! You stopped listening to me! She made you feel like a big man, and you forgot who built you!"

"She didn't take me from you, Bernice," I said coldly, watching the live GPS location tracking on my phone show the police cruiser turning onto our street. "You drove me away with your evil, cruel heart. You are sick."

Bernice reached into her coat pocket.

My heart stopped. For a fraction of a second, I thought she was pulling out a weapon. I shifted into a defensive stance, ready to tackle her.

Instead, she pulled out a thick envelope and threw it at my chest. The paper hit my jacket and fluttered to the ground.

"Open it," she whispered, her lip curling into a sick, triumphant grin. "Open it and see what your precious, innocent wife was doing before she married you."

Before I could answer, the screech of tires echoed through the garage. Two SDPD patrol cars pulled up behind my car, their red and blue lights flashing against the gray concrete walls. Four officers stepped out with their hands on their holsters.

"Bernice Hart!" an officer ordered. "Turn around and place your hands behind your back!"

Bernice didn't resist. She kept her eyes locked on mine as the officers pulled her arms behind her back and clicked the steel handcuffs around her wrists.

"Read the envelope, Christopher!" she yelled as they guided her toward the back seat of the police cruiser. "Ask her about 2021! Ask her why she really left San Francisco!"