Freya had taught me the tricks of the social media trade. How to build my following, when to post to receive maximum exposure. The photos of my sleeping brother were the most popular, with the goat a distant second. In fact, Eckhart’s images garnered a lot of attention from other photographers, mommy blogger types, and baby-clothing companies. One morning I woke up to three hundred new followers. Another day, I gained over five hundred!

As soon as I set up my account, I searched for Freya Light. I was thrilled to find she had reactivated her Instagram page: Frey_of_Light. So clever! Her account was public, so I followed her. She posted mostly selfies, all focused around her pregnancy. She and Max had spent much of the winter in Mexico—Sayulita, Nayarit, according to the geo tag. They were on a “babymoon” sponsored by a five-star resort. Free accommodation in exchange for posts of the photogenic mother-to-be in her high-end quarters and around the scenic property. One photo offered a view of Freya’s tanned belly and shapely legs, the ocean in the background. There was a shot of her round tummy floating in an infinity pool; a pic of her in a white robe eating fresh papaya for breakfast in her suite; one of her maternal cleavage bursting out of her bikini top, with the caption: These babies are ready for baby! #breastfeed #mothersmilk #noboobjob

While I was thrilled when I got a hundred likes, Freya got thousands. Scrolling through the comments, I found them to be largely positive and supportive.

So beautiful!

That’s going to be a gorgeous baby!

Enjoy this special time!

Only a handful were cruel.

Ryan Klassen is dead. But enjoy your holiday!

Will baby grow up to be a killer like daddy?

Superficial, shallow c**t.

Monitoring her page, I found that Freya posted roughly every other day. She was back in the game. And it was only a matter of time before her dabbling became a full-blown career again. Her photos were decent, she looked stunning, but they were amateurish. That’s when I saw an opportunity to get back into Freya’s life. But I needed Thompson Ingleby’s help.

I texted him and asked him to meet me for a slice of pizza. He responded instantly and exuberantly.

Sounds great!!!

When I arrived at the restaurant, he was already there, seated at a red vinyl booth. He stood when I entered. “Can I buy you a slice?”

“My treat,” I said. “What’ll you have?”

“I insist,” Thompson said. “Unless you think that’s chauvinistic? I respect you as a woman and your ability to pay for your own food.”

“It’s fine.” I slid into the booth. “I’ll have a meat-lovers and a Coke.”

Thompson hurried to the counter and soon returned with a slice and a drink for each of us. He set my meal in front of me with a flourish.

“M’lady.”