Slow.
Measured.
Impossible to read.
Ethan sits directly behind me with the entire Hawthorne clan, his presence humming through me like a lifeline. He reaches forward, takes my hand, and squeezes once, firm, steady.
I look back at him, and his eyes tell me everything he can’t say out loud.
If this goes wrong, we leave. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.
But I could never do that to him. I love him too much to tear him away from his home, his job, his family. From the ranch that is in his blood.
He must see the truth in my eyes, because his expression shifts, fear, frustration, heartbreak all tangled together. He shakes his head, lips parting like he’s about to speak… and then the judge walks in.
Everyone stands.
“Case number 27-408. Custody petition regarding minor child, Mia Masters.”
My breath catches.
Her name.
Hearing it out loud here, under fluorescent lights and stone walls, feels like a punishment.
Judge Rowan Hale looks too young to be making decisions that can break a person’s life apart. Early thirties, maybe. Clean-shaven, sharp suit, posture so straight it looks carved. Not one flicker of emotion crosses his face as he scans the file with Mia’s name stamped across the top.
That should be comforting, neutrality, professionalism, but instead it sends bile creeping up my throat.
Across the aisle, Kevin sits like he’s posing for a campaign photo. Perfect suit. Perfect hair. Perfect smirk. He hasn’t looked at me once. He doesn’t need to. He already thinks he’s won.
And maybe he has.
Behind him, his parents sit stiff and self-righteous. My own parents beside them… my sister and her husband behind them. Not one pair of eyes glances my way. Not one acknowledges me at all. Like I’m a stranger. Like I’m a stain they’d rather pretend never happened.
My heart won’t stop pounding, not even when Judge Hale clears his throat and the hearing officially begins. The words wash over me in a blur, formal and distant, like they’re happening around me instead of to me.
My attorney rises first. He explains Mia’s well-being, the stability she’s found in Lander, the life we’ve built. He submits the messages, every single message, showing how many times I told Kevin where we were, that he could call, that he could visit, that Mia missed him.
Judge Hale’s eyes move to the stack of printouts.
He doesn’t react.
Not when he sees the weeks of read receipts with no replies.
Not when he sees the message where I begged him to call her on her birthday, and he never did.
Not when he sees the pictures I sent of Mia’s first day at her new school, her birthday, Thanksgiving.
He flips each page like he’s reviewing a tax return, not evidence of how desperately I tried to keep him in her life.
What if he doesn’t care?
What if all he sees is a mother who“ran away”?
What if all he sees is Kevin’s money, his influence, his lawyer-polished excuses?
My stomach twists so hard I press a hand against it.
