Aria didn't sleep that night.
She sat curled in the armchair by the window, watching the faint glow of the streetlights shift as the hours dragged on. Every sound outside made her flinch — a car passing, a distant dog barking, the creak of old wood as the house settled.
Somewhere upstairs, Elias was awake too.
She could hear him pacing again, the same restless rhythm he always fell into when his mind spun too fast for his body to keep up.
They were one misstep away from losing everything.
And now, it wasn't just about the custody case.
It was about survival.
The doorbell rang just after midnight.
Aria shot to her feet, heart hammering.
She rushed to the door, adrenaline surging through her veins.
Elias was already there, pulling it open — and immediately swearing under his breath.
A heavy envelope lay on the porch, no one in sight.
He bent down and scooped it up, flipping it over in his hands.
No address. No sender. No explanation.
Just their names scrawled across it in messy black ink.
Aria's blood turned to ice.
"Open it," she whispered.
Elias hesitated for half a second — then tore it open.
Inside were photos.
Grainy, low-quality, but unmistakable.
Elias, years ago, glassy-eyed and hollow, stumbling out of some filthy club.
Mariah, clinging to his arm, laughing as she waved a small baggie toward the camera.
And at the bottom of the stack, a final photo.
Eli.
A baby, maybe one-year-old, strapped into a car seat in the back of a beaten-up sedan — Elias passed out behind the wheel.
Aria clapped a hand over her mouth.
Tears stung her eyes.
"Oh my God," she choked.
Elias's face went white.
He sank onto the steps, the photos slipping from his fingers.
"This is bad," he whispered.
Aria didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Because there were no words big enough to hold the terror blooming in her chest.
By morning, Hutchins was at their kitchen table again, looking over the photos with a grim frown.
"Where the hell did she get these?" Elias demanded, voice raw.
Hutchins shook his head.
"Doesn't matter. They're real. And they're dangerous."
Aria sat stiffly in her chair, clutching a cold cup of coffee she hadn't touched.
"Can she use them in court?" she asked hoarsely.
"She'll try," Hutchins said. "Especially if she can spin them as proof you're unfit."
"But it's old," Elias snapped. "It's years ago. I'm not that person anymore."
Hutchins gave him a hard look.
"Tell that to a judge with a scared social worker breathing down her neck."
The room felt too small, the air too thick.
"What do we do?" Aria asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hutchins sighed, running a hand over his face.
"We fight fire with fire."
Elias narrowed his eyes.
"What does that mean?"
"It means we find out what Mariah's hiding. Because someone that desperate? They've got skeletons too. We dig until we find them. And then we bury her."
The plan was risky.
It involved hiring a private investigator — a wiry guy named Deacon who smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and bad decisions but came highly recommended.
"You want dirt on the girl?" Deacon asked, flipping open a battered notebook. "You'll get dirt."
Aria wasn't sure whether to be relieved or terrified.
Maybe both.
Meanwhile, the court proceedings moved forward.
Aria sat through hours of hearings, evaluations, and supervised visits.
The constant scrutiny wore on all of them, Eli included.
He was quieter these days.
Withdrawn.
At night, he would crawl into Aria's bed and curl against her side like he was five years old again.
"Mom," he whispered one night, voice thick with sleep, "you and Dad are gonna be okay, right?"
Aria kissed his forehead, feeling her heart splinter.
"We're trying, baby," she whispered back. "We're trying hard."
Two weeks later, Deacon delivered.
He slid a folder across their kitchen table, eyes gleaming.
"Your girl Mariah's got warrants in two states," he said. "Fraud. Identity theft. And get this — she's been using a fake name for over a year."
Aria's mouth dropped open.
"You're kidding."
"Nope. She's on the run. Thought she could hide by dragging you two down with her."
Elias leaned forward, jaw clenched.
"Can we use this?"
Deacon grinned.
"Already filed anonymously with the court. Judges don't like liars. Especially liars messing with custody cases."
For the first time in weeks, Aria felt a flicker of hope.
A tiny, fragile thing — but hope nonetheless.
The court reconvened on a rainy Tuesday.
Mariah showed up in a too-tight dress and heels she could barely walk in, smiling like she owned the place.
Aria sat rigidly beside Elias, her stomach twisted into knots.
Judge Harrow entered, her expression unreadable.
The bailiff called the session to order.
Hutchins stood.
"Your Honor, before proceeding, the defense would like to submit new evidence regarding the credibility of the witness in question."
Mariah's smile faltered.
The clerk handed over the file.
Judge Harrow flipped through it slowly.
Her eyebrows rose.
Her mouth pressed into a thin line.
Mariah fidgeted, her eyes darting around the room.
When the judge finally looked up, her gaze was ice cold.
"Ms. Mariah Denton," she said sharply, "please approach the bench."
Mariah stumbled forward.
The courtroom held its breath.
Judge Harrow held up the file.
"You failed to disclose your outstanding warrants. You filed testimony under a false identity. You knowingly attempted to interfere with an ongoing custody case."
Mariah opened her mouth — but the judge held up a hand.
"Save it."
She turned to the bailiff.
"Escort Ms. Denton out of this courtroom. And place her under arrest."
The room erupted in whispers.
Aria sat frozen, heart pounding wildly.
Mariah shrieked as the bailiff cuffed her.
"You can't do this! I'm telling the truth! They're liars!"
No one listened.
No one cared.
Justice — swift, brutal — had finally caught up with her.
As the door slammed shut behind Mariah, Judge Harrow turned her gaze to Aria and Elias.
"Well," she said dryly. "That was... illuminating."
When court adjourned, Aria stepped into the hallway, breathing in the cool air like it was the first real breath she'd taken in weeks.
Elias followed a few steps behind.
For a long moment, they just stood there, neither speaking.
Finally, he said, voice low, "We're not done yet. But... we're still standing."
Aria turned to him.
She didn't know what to say.
Didn't know how to name the tidal wave of emotions crashing inside her.
So instead, she stepped closer.
Reached for his hand.
He squeezed back, fierce and sure.
And for the first time in a long time, Aria believed that maybe, just maybe, they had a fighting chance after all.