*My son declared, «There’s no room for you here, leave.» So I walked away…

We owe over ten grand in late fees and penalties. Our phones are on borrowed time. And I don’t know where we go from here.

I watched her the whole time. Watched her lower lip quiver. Watched her blink too fast when she talked about how lonely it felt to be in a world that had moved.

On without them. Then I noticed it. The brand tag still hanging from the diaper bag.

I leaned closer and saw the logo. Posh baby. A designer line I recognized from a catalog in the motel lobby.

Retail price? Over nine hundred dollars. That’s new, I said pointing. Megan hesitated.

It was a gift, she said too quickly. From a friend. I said nothing.

Just stood up slowly and walked to the window. From there, I could see a rental car idling by the curb. A black SUV.

Not cheap. Not broken down. Not desperate.

You came here to get something, I said. She flinched. I came here to ask for help.

No, I corrected. You came here to film something. I turned around, fast.

Where is it? She stood up. What are you talking about? Your phone? Your purse? Whatever it is. I saw it in the bag’s side pocket when you sat down.

You’re recording this. Her lips parted. Then closed.

We just wanted proof, she said quietly. In case you tried to twist things. I stared at her for what felt like a full minute.

Get out, I said. Linda. Now.

I opened the door. And take the gift shop baby bag with you. She didn’t move.

So I stepped forward. Closer than I’ve ever been to her in anger. Let me be clear, Megan.

I’m not your storyline. I’m not your villain. And I sure as hell am not your ATM.

Get out of my room before I call the police. She picked up Emily slowly, clutching her close. She’s your granddaughter.

No, I said. She’s your child. Raise her better than you treat people.

Megan stepped out, back, stiff. She walked to the car and climbed in. And within seconds they drove off.

I closed the door, locked it, and sat on the bed without moving for a long time. My hands were shaking again. But it wasn’t fear.

It was adrenaline. Because I knew what had just happened. Megan had come to bait me into saying something cruel on camera.

Something they could cut, edit, post online. Turn into sympathy clicks. And I hadn’t given it to her.

I had stayed calm. But I wasn’t finished. The next day, I went to the courthouse and filed for a temporary restraining order.

I included everything. The texts, the attempted manipulation, the visit. I even printed a screenshot of the diaper bag’s retail price.

The clerk barely blinked. You’re not the first, she said. You won’t be the last.

That night, I returned to my room, opened my notebook, and wrote a single sentence. They brought a baby to play victim. I brought receipts…