“I’m not stealing,” she said. “I swear to God, I’m not.”
“Then why are you tearing through my mailbox like a criminal?”
Megan’s face twisted.
“Because a little boy might be taken tomorrow if I don’t find one envelope.”
The words stopped him.
Claire lowered the phone slightly.
Daniel still held the bat, but his grip changed. “What boy?”
Megan looked at the neighbors watching now. Her shame rose quickly, but fear burned through it. She did not have the luxury of dignity anymore.
“My nephew,” she said. “His name is Caleb. He’s seven.”
Daniel stared at her.
Megan spoke faster now because once panic found a crack, everything came out. “My sister died three months ago. Overdose, they said. But before that, she filed for full custody because Caleb’s father was hurting him. There were reports. Hospital visits. A teacher called. My sister was trying to get him away, but she died before the hearing. I’ve been fighting for temporary guardianship.”
Claire came down one porch step. “Megan…”
“The judge signed an emergency order this morning,” Megan said. “My lawyer said the hard copy was mailed and should arrive today. I need it before the caseworker meeting tomorrow. If I don’t have it, Caleb’s father can argue I’m interfering, and he already has a lawyer saying I’m unstable because I keep pushing this.”
Daniel’s eyes flicked to the scattered mail.
Megan wiped rain from her face with the back of her wrist. “The mail truck came. I saw it stop here, then my house. My box had nothing. Yours was full. We’ve had mail mixed up before. I thought maybe—”
“So you opened our mailbox.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t knock?”
“I did.”
Claire frowned. “No, you didn’t.”
Megan looked toward the Harper porch, confused. “I rang twice.”
Daniel and Claire exchanged a glance.
Their doorbell had been broken for two weeks.
Megan saw the glance and nearly cried from frustration. “I rang. I knocked too, but maybe not loud enough. I don’t know. I panicked.”
Daniel lowered the bat a few inches.
Then the back door of Megan’s house across the street opened.
Everyone turned.
A man stepped onto Megan’s porch.
Tall. Dark jacket. Close-cropped hair. Clean-shaven. He looked around the street, then saw Megan beside the Harper mailbox.
His face changed.
Megan stopped breathing.
Daniel noticed immediately.
“Who is that?” he asked.
Megan did not answer.
The man crossed the street with steady, controlled steps, the kind of walk that made people move aside before they understood why. He did not look angry at first. That made him worse. He looked calm, almost amused, like a man arriving late to a scene he expected to own.
“Megan,” he called. “What are you doing?”
Her voice came out small. “Go home, Travis.”
Daniel looked from her to the man. “Travis?”
The man smiled at Daniel. “Sorry about this. Family issue. She gets worked up.”
Megan flinched at the phrase.
Family issue.
Daniel heard it too — the practiced softness, the way the man explained her before she could explain herself.
Travis stopped near the mailbox and looked at the envelopes on the grass. “You’re going through people’s mail now?”
“I’m looking for the order,” Megan said.
His smile faded just enough. “There is no order.”
“There is.”
“You misunderstood your lawyer.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Travis turned to Daniel, voice lowered in polite embarrassment. “I apologize. She’s been struggling since her sister passed. Lots of accusations. Lots of drama. I’m Caleb’s father. I’m just trying to bring my son home.”