“You’re being dramatic,” he muttered, looking more embarrassed than concerned.

“Your mother harmed our daughter,” I snapped. “If you don’t walk out with us tonight, I’ll file for divorce in the morning.”

Nathan walked to my side and grabbed my free hand. “Let’s go, Dad,” he whispered.

For the first time that night, something in Grant’s expression cracked. He took his coat and followed us out, ignoring Bernard’s roar: “If you leave now, you’re cut off!”

“Good,” I said. “We want nothing from you.”

We drove straight to the hospital. Lily was stitched up and photographed for documentation. A social worker was called. The police took our statements.

By morning, the incident was on the news.