My grip tightens on the too-small glass of water that we were offered when we sat down in this over-done, rip-off excuse of a family law conference room.
I sit with my representation on one side of the long, polished mahogany table. Turns out having a lawyer on call came in handy, especially during the holidays. Stella and some guy that looks like she plucked him right out ofGreasesit on the other side.
“My client has evidence that you have withheld your daughter from her. And on these grounds, we are filing for full custody.” Grease Danny says, thumbing a stain on his double-breasted jacket.
Kendall, our family lawyer for decades now, his age showing with his snowy -white hair and weathered face, leans forward. “Do you have a signed affidavit?”
Stella slides a small stack of papers over the table, giving me a smirk that could haunt the devil.
Kendall plucks it up, flipping through the pages and stopping to read some parts. He hums a sound of disapproval before dropping the document to the table. “Insubstantial.”
“Mr. MacKelvie moved the child without consulting my client. He failed to forward an address after they had moved. My client has spent the last five years without her daughter. We will be proceeding with this matter.”
The hell she did.
I go to open my mouth, and Kendall pats my hand like the old man he is, shaking his head softly.
“We in the family court are not interested in the welfare of parents, Mr. Smythe. We are in the business of doing what is best for the child. Period.”
“How do you know I’m not the best parent for her? I’ve never had the chance. It’s my turn. I want her.” Stella pouts.
Kendall leans forward and holds Stella’s gaze that’s now burning with fury. “Let me let you in on a little secret, Miss Ramsey—good parents don’t walk away from their child after the first seven days of their life. Good parents don’t put their career and life before their child. And good parents most certainly do not try to rip their child from the only safe place they’ve ever known.” Kendall stands. “We’re done here.”
I follow his lead and stand, walking from the room.
Screaming starts the second the heavy glass door closes behind us. I turn back to see Stella throwing her arms around at Grease Danny. Smythe, was it? He’s placating her, running his hand through his gelled hair.
And with this little display, there is no way in hell’s handbasket that woman is getting near Maise, ever.
“So, we’re all done here?” I ask Kendall as we walk through the foyer of the Smythe and Sanders office.
“Unfortunately, I’ve seen these types of things too many times to give you the answer you want. It’s more likely she will proceed, if she has the funding. However, a court will not remove a child from a parent without due cause.”
“What does that mean?”
He frowns. “Things like neglect, poverty, and access. Which she has not had.”
“So, there is a chance she could win... but”—I spin and point to the building now behind us—“you just said?—”
He holds up a hand. “I doubt she could win this. But there is always a chance. It would be remiss of me to tell you this is a cakewalk, Quinton. It may not be. Time will tell.”
“So, we’ve solved nothing.”
“We’ve done our recon.” He slaps my arm. “Try not to worry about it, son. Enjoy your Christmas. She may go home and realize it’s too much trouble.”
“Yeah, right.” I swallow past the stone that’s grown in my throat. “Merry Christmas, Kendall.”
He tips his old man flat cap and smiles at me before walking down the snowy Boston street.
MerryfuckingChristmas . . .
The doors behind me slide open and heels clack toward me.
I brace for the onslaught as the ferocious blonde I once thought was the love of my life stalks toward me, her face tugged into a snarl.
I could almost laugh at how ridiculous she looks, if I wasn’t here trying to keep my family safe.
“You won’t win this, Quinton. Judges don’t keep mothers from their babies. Not everyone’s a barbarian like you.” Sheshoulder-slams me, not even getting me to budge, as she marches past.
