Judith finally left around noon, a polite promise about filing her report within the week trailing behind her as she walked to her car. I stood frozen until the engine started, until the sound of it faded down the driveway. Only then did my shoulders drop, the release sharp enough to make me sway slightly where I stood.
Air filled my lungs like I’d been holding it hostage all morning.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Liam broke the silence, trying for lightness. It didn’t quite land. His jaw was still tight, his hands flexing like he hadn’t realized he was braced for impact.
We stayed in the living room, surrounded by the careful order we’d constructed. Everything in its place. Too perfect. Too deliberate. The house felt smaller now, crowded by evidence I couldn’t unsee.
My things were still there. In his room. My pillow on his bed, the dent shaped unmistakably like my head. My shampoo in his shower, next to his, no longer looking temporary—just… placed.
The thought tightened my chest.
“I should move my stuff back.” The words came out before I could soften them, a reflex dressed up as practicality.
Liam nodded. “I’ll help.”
We worked in silence, carrying my belongings back down the hallway to the guest room. It should have felt like a relief, restoring the boundaries we’d carefully maintained. Instead, each item I removed from his space felt like a small loss. The lavender oil from his nightstand. My robe from the back of his door. The book I’d left on what would have been my side of the bed.
“There.” I set the last of it down on the guest room dresser, a little too carefully. “Back to normal.”
Liam leaned against the doorframe, watching me. Something flickered in his expression, there and gone before I could pin it down.
“Right.” A pause. “Normal.”
Neither of us moved for a moment. Then he pushed off from the frame and headed back down the hallway.
“I’ll start dinner,” he called over his shoulder.
I stood alone in the guest room, surrounded by my things, and wondered whennormalhad started to feel like a loss.
The second custody hearing arrived a month later—faster than I’d expected, slower than I’d feared.
Another gray morning, the sky low and colorless. Another borrowed blazer pulled on like armor, the fabric stiff against my shoulders. Another drive to the courthouse with Liam in the passenger seat, the road stretching ahead of us in quiet familiarity.
I watched the scenery slide past the window without really registering it, my mind looping through the same familiar corridors it always found before a hearing. The what-ifs. The thin, hard-won progress. How easily it could all be stripped away with the wrong word, the wrong look.
Dread settled low in my stomach, dense and unmoving. A weight I’d learned to live with. To ignore. To carry without complaint.
Todd was already there when we arrived. Same cheap suit, pressed just enough to pass. Same practiced smile, calibrated for witnesses. When his eyes found mine across the hallway, thesmile didn’t falter—but something behind it sharpened, cold and deliberate. He didn’t come closer this time. Just watched.
Somehow, that was worse.
Judge Morrison took her seat. The room shifted with her presence, everyone straightening without meaning to. Sandra Reeves stepped forward and began reading the updated report; Judith Crane’s findings folded neatly into her neutral cadence.
I stilled completely, breath caught somewhere between inhale and panic, as the summary began.
“The court-appointed evaluator found the home environment to be stable, clean, and appropriate for a child. Ms. Crane noted that Mia Santos appears to be adjusting well, with improved engagement at school and a positive relationship with both her sister and Mr. Murphy.”
Sandra’s voice stayed even as her eyes moved across the page. The words landed one by one, careful and measured.
She looked up from her notes.
“The evaluator’s recommendation is continued placement with the petitioner.”
My fingers loosened in my lap without my permission. A breath slipped free—small, shaky, barely enough to count as relief, but it was something.
It didn’t last.
A chair scraped back. Shoes crossed the floor. Todd’s lawyer rose with deliberate calm, smoothing his jacket like this was all part of the plan.
