Sophie Reynolds was sitting across from me in my hoodie, wrapped in a plaid blanket, her face pale from the cold and fury.
We had come to the mountains for a quiet weekend.
Instead, we walked into a trap.
And before dawn, the woman who tried to ruin us would realize Sophie was not the kind of woman who cried.
She recorded.
The cabin had one bed, no working heater, and somehow my ex-wife already knew we were there.
That was the first thing I understood as I stood in the bedroom doorway, holding two grocery bags and staring at a queen mattress covered with a red quilt.
The second thing I understood was worse.
Continue on the next page:
