In contrast to her adults, Debbie was completely undaunted.
She stood between us wearing her best dress and her signature dragon tiara, which had somehow become her official “important occasions” headwear. She was humming a mashup of “Let It Go” and the wedding march while practicingher curtsy, apparently under the impression that courthouse appearances were basically the American version of royal presentations.
“Do you think the judge will remember you?” I asked quietly, reaching up and adjusting his tie for the fifteenth time in five minutes.
“She’s not going to forget the dragon princess who reorganized her entire courtroom protocol,” he said, watching Debbie demonstrate the proper scepter-holding technique using an imaginary object. “Plus, the judge specifically requested a photo last time. I think we made an impression.”
“Debbie’s aunt sure did,” I muttered, not intending to be heard but earning a head nod from Theo.
The clock on the wall ticked with the kind of deliberate slowness that suggested it was personally invested in prolonging our anxiety. After a million ticks, a bailiff appeared and called out, “Mikel, Courtroom Number Four.”
My stomach did a complicated flip that would have impressed Olympic gymnasts.
We followed the bailiff down the hallway to the same courtroom where Theo’s legal claim to Debbie had been challenged and ultimately affirmed. Judge Williams was wrapping up the previous hearing, her voice carrying the same blend of authority and warmth Theo had described months ago; so we settled onto the wooden bench, Debbie whispering loudly enough for half the courtroom to hear, “Daddy, when do I get to talk to the judge? I have important things to tell her about dragon protocol.”
“We’ll see, Button,” Theo whispered back. “Let’s just follow the judge’s lead, okay?”
The previous case concluded, and suddenly it was our turn. The clerk called our names, and we approached the petitioner’stable with a mix of nervousness and hope that had been threaded throughout this whole process.
Judge Williams looked up from her paperwork, and her face broke into a broad smile.
“Well, well,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “If it isn’t my favorite dragon princess and her guardians. How are we doing today, Miss Deborah?”
Debbie straightened in her chair, her tiara catching the courtroom lights. “Very well, Your Honor. I brought my tiara because this is a very important day for dragonkind.”
“I can see that. It’s beautiful. Very . . . regal.”
The judge turned her attention to a folder filled with paperwork handed to her by a clerk with the bored efficiency of a man who’d done this more times than he could remember.
“Mr. Jamison.” Judge Williams finally peered above her reading glasses without lifting her head and addressed Theo. “I need to confirm your consent to Mr. Mikel’s petition for adoption of the minor child Deborah Sarah Jamison.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Absolutely yes. One hundred percent yes. I consent completely, judge,” Theo said, his voice shaking almost as much as his hands. “Jeremiah has been Debbie’s ‘other’ father in every way that matters since we became a family. Today makes everything official and gives our daughter security, should something happen to me.”
Judge Williams made a note, scanned a document, then removed her glasses, sat back, and looked at me. “Mr. Mikel, do you understand the responsibilities and commitments you’re undertaking with this adoption?”
“I do, Your Honor.” The words came out more confidently than I’d expected. “I’ve been living those responsibilities and commitments for nearly a year. Debbie is my daughter in my heart, and I want her to be my daughter in the eyes of the world as well.”
Another nod.
Another scribble.
“And Miss Deborah,” Judge Williams said, leaning over her bench to better make eye contact with our little monster, “how do you feel about Mr. Jeremiah becoming your legal father?”
Debbie hopped out of her chair and scooted around the table to stand before the bench. When she spoke, she did so with the gravity of someone delivering a royal decree. “Your Honor, Willie Wee has been my daddy for a really long time already. He makes even better pancakes than my other daddy and knows all the words to the princess songs . . . oh, and he promised to teach me how to throw a curveball when I’m older. Plus, he loves me and Daddy a whole bunch, and we love him back so much it hurts. So yes, I think it’s a really good idea.”
Judge Williams was clearly fighting back a chuckle. “That sounds like excellent reasoning to me.”
She straightened the papers before her and looked at all three of us with an expression that reminded me of Mrs. Chen when she was about to say something that would make us cry happy tears.
“You know,” she said, her voice taking on a more personal tone, “I’ve been presiding over family court cases for nearly twenty years, and I’ve seen all kinds of families come through these doors. Traditional families, blended families, families formed by choice rather than biology, and many, many more. What I’ve learned is that the best families—the ones that really work—aren’t defined by how they’re structured; they’re defined by how much love lives inside them.”
She paused, looking between Theo and me.
“You two gentlemen have built something beautiful. You’ve taken a child who had already experienced loss and helped her believe in love and security again. You’ve created a home where she can be exactly who she is—dragon tiara and all—andfeel completely accepted and cherished. In this Court’s opinion, that’s what family should look like. The rest are just details.”
My vision blurred, and I felt Theo’s hand grip mine under the table.
“Therefore,” Judge Williams continued, her voice becoming formal again, “by the power vested in me by the State of Georgia, I hereby grant the petition for adoption. Jeremiah Mikel, you are now the legal father of Deborah Sarah Jamison, with all the rights and responsibilities that entails. May you serve the Dragon Princess well.”
