My Coworker Sent Me a Photo of My Daughter Standing in 95°F Heat, My MIL Was Supervising

Judge Harrison removed her glasses. “Mrs. Rivers, your daughter was hospitalized for heat exhaustion and dehydration. You don’t appear to comprehend the severity of this situation.”

Marshall watched his wife crumble under the judge’s scrutiny. Part of him felt pity; the rest felt nothing but contempt for how thoroughly Harriet had broken her.

The ruling came swift and decisive. Full physical custody to Marshall.

Stephanie could have supervised visitation once she completed a parenting course and family therapy. Harriet was prohibited from any contact with Sophie.

Outside the courthouse, Harriet approached Marshall. Two sheriff’s deputies immediately stepped between them, enforcing the restraining order.

“You’re making a mistake!” She called out. “Sophie needs proper discipline. She needs family. You’re always gone chasing animals in the wilderness. What kind of father—”

“The kind who doesn’t torture his child,” Marshall said calmly. “The kind who puts her safety first.”

“You’ll regret this. I have lawyers. I have money. I’ll—” Harriet said.

“You’ll what? Make me disappear like you did Thomas?” Marshall asked.

The effect was immediate. Harriet’s face went white, then red.

“I don’t know what lies Sophie told you, but I wasn’t talking about Sophie,” Marshall kept his voice level, conversational. “I was talking about Thomas Brennan. You remember him? Stephanie’s boyfriend? The one who disappeared 12 years ago near the Cascade hiking trail? Your favorite trail?”

“That was an accident. He was inexperienced. He went hiking alone,” Harriet said.

“How would you know that? The police never determined what happened to him,” Marshall asked.

Harriet’s mouth snapped shut. She’d said too much, and she knew it.

Marshall smiled. “Enjoy your lawyers, Harriet. You’re going to need them.”

He walked away, Sophie’s hand in his, leaving his mother-in-law sputtering in the courthouse plaza.

That evening, Marshall received an email. The sender was listed as a friend, but the contents were explosive.

Thomas Brennan’s journal, or at least excerpts from it. The entries detailed his relationship with Stephanie and his growing concerns about Harriet’s controlling behavior.

The final entry was dated two days before Thomas disappeared. “Stephanie agreed to move to Portland with me. We’re telling her mother tomorrow. I’m nervous. Harriet won’t take this well. But we have to break free. This isn’t healthy. I love Stephanie but I can’t watch her mother destroy her anymore. Tomorrow we tell Harriet. Then we leave. Start fresh.”

The email included scanned images of the physical journal pages. Marshall couldn’t verify if they were real, but something about them felt authentic.

The handwriting was consistent. The dates aligned with what he knew.

More importantly, if he had these, who else did? Marshall replied to the email. “Who are you? How did you get these?”

The response came 30 minutes later. “Someone who knew Thomas. Someone who’s waited 12 years for justice. You’re not the only person Harriet Wilson has hurt. But you might be the only one in a position to do something about it. Use these wisely.”

No signature, no identifying information. But Marshall suspected he knew who it was.

Someone from Thomas’s family. Someone who’d never believed the hiking accident story.

He forwarded everything to Brent. “I don’t know if this is admissible, but it’s something. It’s a start.”

Brent agreed. “But Marshall, be careful. If Harriet killed Thomas—and that’s a big if—she’s dangerous. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” Marshall lied.