The words looped.
It shouldn’t have been her problem anymore. Not legally. Not emotionally. The no-contact order existed. The annulment petition was moving through court.
She could let him find someone else. Let the system catch up. Let his scheme become someone else’s lesson.
But then she pictured a girl like her—twenty years old, hands smelling like milk and hay, a sick mother, a father in trouble, a life narrowed to desperation.
And she felt the old helplessness rise, followed immediately by something new:
Fury.
Emily called Naomi as soon as she got home.
Naomi answered on the second ring. “Hey, Emily. Everything okay?”
Emily exhaled sharply. “No,” she said. “He’s trying again.”
There was a brief silence, then Naomi’s tone hardened. “What do you mean?”
Emily told her about Hannah’s messages. About the fundraiser. About Thomas telling people he was dying.
Naomi made a sound under her breath that wasn’t quite a curse but could’ve been.
“Okay,” Naomi said. “That’s important. It supports a pattern of deception. If he’s repeating the same claim, it strengthens the fraud argument.”
Emily’s hands clenched. “He’s going to trick someone else,” she said.
Naomi paused. “Emily,” she said carefully, “I need to be clear. Your case is about you. I can use this to support your claim, but intervening in someone else’s situation carries risks.”
“I know,” Emily said. “But I can’t just—” Her voice cracked with anger. “I can’t just watch.”
Naomi’s voice softened slightly. “I understand,” she said. “But we need to be strategic. You have a no-contact order. If you go to that fundraiser and confront him, he could argue you violated it.”
Emily swallowed. “Then what do I do?” she demanded.
Naomi took a breath. “If you have credible evidence he’s committing fraud again,” she said, “we can file it as part of your case. And we can warn people—carefully—through legal channels or direct statements that focus on your experience, not accusations you can’t prove.”
Emily’s chest tightened. “A statement,” she echoed.
Naomi continued, “We can also ask the court to expand the order or include a non-disparagement provision depending on the judge, but that goes both ways. The safest thing is to let your filings speak.”
Emily stared at the wall. Let filings speak. Let the system speak.
The system was slow.
Girls got trapped in slow systems.
Emily’s voice went low. “Naomi,” she said, “he told me he was dying. He got into my family. He used my mother’s medicine. He called my father in prison. If he’s doing that again—”
“I know,” Naomi said. “I know. But we can’t control him. We can only control what we can prove.”
Emily hung up feeling like she’d swallowed a rock.
That evening, Ruth noticed her pacing.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Ruth murmured from the couch.
Emily stopped, looked at her mother’s thin face, the dark circles under her eyes.
“He’s doing it again,” Emily said.
Ruth’s expression tightened. “Who?”
Emily didn’t have to say his name. Ruth already knew. Ruth’s whole body went tense at the thought.
“He’s trying to find someone else,” Emily said. “Someone young. Someone desperate.”
Ruth’s eyes filled slowly. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Emily…”
Emily sat on the edge of the coffee table, elbows on her knees. “I can’t let him,” she said.
Ruth’s voice trembled. “What can you do? He has money. He has lawyers. He has—”
“A story,” Emily cut in.
Ruth blinked.
Emily’s eyes burned with determination. “He has a story,” she said. “A dying man. A tragic timeline. A noble request.”
Ruth swallowed. “And you have… what?”
Emily thought about the clinic report she’d seen but hadn’t copied. About the contract she’d read but couldn’t show. About the voicemail and texts she did have.
“I have proof he said it,” Emily said slowly. “In writing. And I have proof he threatened you.”
Ruth’s face went pale again.
Emily continued, voice steadier. “And I have the truth,” she said. “Even if the court takes time, people don’t always.”
Ruth’s eyes searched Emily’s. “What are you thinking?”
Emily hesitated. The plan forming in her mind felt reckless. But it also felt like the first time she’d stepped out the gate and refused to go back.
“I’m thinking,” Emily said, “that if he’s selling the same lie, I can warn the buyer.”
Ruth flinched. “Emily…”
“I’m not going to confront him,” Emily said quickly, because she heard Naomi’s warning in her head. “Not directly. I won’t violate the order.”
Ruth looked unconvinced. “Then how?”
Emily stood and walked to her laptop. She opened it and stared at the blank screen.
She could write.
She could tell what happened to her, plainly. Without embellishment. Without slander beyond what she could support.
She could describe the claim: terminal illness.
She could describe her discovery: documents indicating he was healthy and contracts tying property to fatherhood within a year.
She could describe the coercion: mentions of her mother’s care, her father in prison.
She could attach what she had: the text where he said he was dying, the voicemail where he implied consequences for Ruth, the legal filings accusing her of abandonment.
She could not prove the clinic report in her possession.
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