We're sitting in Reese's office in downtown Portland. She twists her long black ponytail around her free hand as she scrolls through the email from Lily's attorney. Charlie is sitting in one of the guest chairs next to me, his elbows on his knees, hands locked together. He wrings them occasionally, his skin going from red to a sickly white with each movement. My resolve on the outside is unshakable, but inside I am fuming. I want to scream that this b***h has no leg to stand on and that I'm really going to kick her ass, but I know it isn't the adult or sane thing to do right then, so I straighten my back and sit up straight, reaching over to my husband's hands and gently pry his fingers apart. "So?" Charlie asks Reese for probably the tenth time while she is reading. She holds up a

