Evan stepped between us.
“She contacted me because she wanted money.”
Vanessa’s face hardened.
“That is a lie.”
“Then explain the courthouse.”
“I was filing for a protective order.”
Something inside me dropped.
I stared at her.
“Against Evan?”
She nodded.
Evan turned toward me.
“It was dismissed.”
“Was it filed?”
“Yes, but—”
“Why?”
“Because she was obsessed.”
Vanessa reached into her purse again.
Evan moved toward her.
I held up my hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Maybe it was my tone.
Maybe it was the fact that 100 people were watching him.
Vanessa pulled out folded papers.
Court documents.
I did not know enough about legal language to understand every line, but I recognized Evan’s full name.
I recognized Vanessa’s.
And I recognized photographs attached to the back.
One showed bruising around her upper arm.
Another showed a cracked bedroom door.
Another showed a long scratch down the side of a car.
