The words were meant for the judge. Legal strategy designed to bridge the gap that the missing home study had left behind. So why did part of me wish it were true? I'd told myself I didn't need those things. That wanting them was weakness. But sitting in that courtroom, listening to my lawyer describe a marriage that wasn't real, I felt the ache of wanting it anyway.
Judge Morrison remained silent. The pen tapped again. And again. A slow, deliberate rhythm that seemed to take over the room. Each hollow sound landed heavier than the last, stretching the seconds until they lost their shape.
The courtroom faded to the edges. The buzz of the lights grew sharper. My chest tightened, breath shallow and controlled, every muscle locked as if stillness might somehow influence the outcome. I became acutely aware of everything I couldn’t do—couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t fix what was about to be decided without me.
I kept my eyes forward, afraid that if I looked at Liam, the restraint would crack. Afraid that if I looked anywhere at all, the waiting would turn unbearable. Time didn’t pass. It hovered.
"I am granting a temporary reprieve," her voice echoed through the room. "Mia Santos will remain with her sister for the next sixty days. However," she pointed her pen directly at us, “I am ordering that a safety inspection be completed by Friday. I require confirmation that the residence is adequately stocked and that appropriate sleeping arrangements are in place for the minor.”
She leaned forward, her gaze piercing. “I am also granting the department’s request for a thirty-day observation period. During that time, I expect to see how the three of you function once the initial urgency has subsided. Should the resulting report indicate that this marriage serves solely as a legal construct, I will order the child’s removal myself. Do you understand, Ms. Santos?”
"Yes, Your Honor." My chest tightened, then loosened just enough to breathe.
She set down her pen with a final thud.
"We'll reconvene in sixty days. Do not make me regret this."
Not a victory. A reprieve.
As we stepped into the hallway, my legs felt heavy, like the curtain had just fallen and I was still standing under the lights. The script wasn’t finished. The audience hadn’t decided if they were convinced.
Forty-eight hours to dress the set. Thirty days to learn the roles well enough to pass for a family.
In the parking lot, I finally let out the breath I'd been holding for three hours.
The sun had come out while we were inside—weak and watery, but still warmer than the gray morning we'd left behind. I stopped beside Liam's truck, tilted my face toward the light, and tried to convince my heart to stop racing.
Liam's hand was still on my back. I'd stopped noticing it in the courtroom, had let it become part of the background like a steady pressure that kept me grounded when everything else was spinning. But now, standing in the parking lot with thejudge's warning echoing in my head, I was suddenly, acutely aware of it. Of him.
"We survived," I said, the words feeling thin. "The marriage… she didn't throw us out."
"For now.” His voice stayed low, grounded. He didn’t move his hand.
“You did good in there, Riley.” A brief pause, like he was choosing restraint over instinct. “Kept your cool when that lawyer started throwing stones. That couldn’t have been easy.”
"It wasn't."
I turned to face him, and for a moment we just stood there, closer than we needed to be. Something passed between us—quiet recognition that we’d just jumped off a cliff together and were still waiting to hit the water.
"Ms. Santos?"
The voice cut clean through the moment.
I stepped back, cold air rushing into the space where Liam had been, and turned to find Sandra Reeves crossing the lot, steps quick and purposeful, file tucked under one arm like she was already moving on to the next case.
“I wanted to catch you before you left.” Her gaze flicked to Liam, unreadable, then returned to me. “The judge is giving you a narrow window, Riley. Most of the time, she would’ve ordered a neutral placement until the home study cleared. The only reason she didn’t is your record and your standing at the station.”
My throat tightened. I nodded once, the words taking effort.
“I know. Thank you for the recommendation.”
Sandra hesitated. Her professional mask slipped, just for a second, revealing something that looked almost like concern.
"Don't thank me yet. You have forty-eight hours until I walk through that front door for the safety check. And thirty daysuntil the social study begins. If there’s anything—anything—that doesn't look right, my hands will be tied."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice so it wouldn't carry.
"And there’s something else. Off the record. Todd has been calling our office three times a day. He’s the one who tipped off his lawyer about the date of your marriage license. He’s been… persistent."
