“Mrs. Evans,” Judge Morrison said, her voice neutral, “tell me about the ER incident.”
Janie swallowed hard. “I was exhausted. I’d been up most of the previous night with Luna, who had an ear infection. The nextday, I fell asleep on the couch while the girls were playing. I woke up when I heard Tia crying. Chloe had gotten into the bathroom cabinet and had a bottle of children’s Tylenol. I immediately called 911, took her to the ER, and stayed with her until the doctor confirmed she was fine.”
Judge Morrison tilted her head. “And why didn’t you tell any of this to your mother?”
“Because my mother and I have a difficult relationship, and it never occurred to me to tell her anything. It isn’t as though she’s been involved in the girls’ lives since they’ve been born, though she’s been critical of my parenting choices. I didn’t want to give her more ammunition to use against me.” Janie sighed deeply and shook her head. “I realize that sounds like I was hiding something, but at the time, I was just trying to protect myself from her judgment.”
The judge pressed her lips together tightly and nodded, but there was still no clear emotion in her expression. “And the separation from your home and wife?”
“I was drowning. The postpartum depression had gotten so bad that I couldn’t see straight anymore. I was so confused…abouteverything.” Janie thought about how she’d mistaken her need for friendship as attraction with Austin and rubbed hard at her forehead. “I was failing my daughters and my wife. I thought leaving would somehow protect them from me.” Tears edged out of her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. “It was the wrong choice. I should’ve stayed and gotten help. But I’m getting help now. I’m on medication, I’m in therapy, and I’m working on my marriage. I love my daughters more than anything in this world, Your Honor. The thought of losing them—” Her voice cracked, and she couldn’t finish. Hannah tightened her grip on Janie’s hand.
Judge Morrison turned to Hannah. “Mrs. Rogers, your mother-in-law’s lawyer has painted a picture of an overwhelmed single parent barely holding things together, including having a problem with alcohol. How do you respond to that?”
“Iwasoverwhelmed.” Hannah shrugged. “But Idon’thave an issue with alcohol.Triplets are hard. Triplets when your wife is struggling with postpartum depression and you’re trying to run a business and be everything to everyone is really hard. But I wasn’t alone for long. My dad came through for me, and I have my crew from the garage, who helped in so many ways. And most importantly, I have my wife again.” She lifted Janie’s hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles. “She’s not just the mother of my children. She’s my partner, my wife, my person. We’re stronger together than apart, and we’re figuring out how to be better for each other and for our girls.”
Judge Morrison glanced across at Janie’s mother before returning her gaze to Janie and Hannah. “What would temporary custody with the grandmother mean for your family?”
Hannah’s jaw tightened. “It would destroy us. My daughters don’t have a relationship with their grandmother; she’s seen them maybe three times since they were born. They don’tknowher. Being taken from their home, from us, from everything familiar would traumatize them. And it would devastate Janie and me. We’re not perfect parents, but we love those girls with everything we have.” She tugged on her ear and cleared her throat. “Please don’t take them away from us.”
Judge Morrison nodded. “You may sit,” she said. “I need some time to review these documents. Court is adjourned, and we’ll reconvene in an hour.”
Everyone stood for her to leave, and the courtroom fell silent except for the rustle of papers from her mother’s lawyer. In her peripheral vision, Janie saw her mother and Bradford gather their things to leave, but Janie kept her gaze fixed forward. She could practically feel the burn of her mother’s glare, but she didn’t succumb to the temptation of meeting her eyes. She didn’t trust herself not to say something that her mother would use against her.
“Do you want to get some air?” Hannah asked.
Janie shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere. Maybe thejudge won’t be that long.”
David swiveled his chair to look at her. “I can wait here and call you back. Perhaps you should get a drink?”
“No,” Janie said, more firmly this time. She shouldn’t have to justify her desire to stay to her own lawyer. She gestured to the jug of water and glasses on their table. “That’ll be fine if I need it.”
“Okay.” David held up his hands. “Okay. Then we all wait.”
Janie sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She imagined a circle of three colors, orange, purple, and green to represent their girls, and outlined in red to represent Hannah’s protection, and then she concentrated on her breathing. Little splotches of black crept in at the edges of her vision as her thoughts wandered to her mother. She acknowledged them before quickly pushing them out of the picture to refocus on the bright globe. She felt Hannah’s steady presence beside her, not demanding attention or conversation, but justthere. This was her family unit, and she couldn’t—shewouldn’t—lose it.
The time slipped past in a haze of steadily counted breaths and deliberate dismissals of the dark presence of her mother. The court officer announcing the judge’s return drew Janie back into the room, and she opened her eyes slowly. Her mother and her lawyer were also back.
Janie yawned and quickly covered her mouth. She hadn’t slept much last night, not because of the babies for once, but because every time she closed her eyes, she saw the word unfit printed somewhere official, somewhere permanent. She kept her hands folded tightly in her lap, fingers pressed together as though they might drift apart if she didn’t keep them contained.
Hannah’s knee was warm against hers, solid and present. Janie leaned into it without meaning to.
Judge Morrison adjusted her glasses and looked down at the file, then up again. “This matter was brought to the court as an emergency.”
The final word landed in Janie’s chest, familiar and wrong. Everything had been an emergency once. Every feeding, everycry, every spiraling thought at three in the morning. Now she was learning that panic didn’t make something true.
“Emergency relief is reserved for situations involving immediate danger to children,” the judge said. “I have heard no such evidence today.”
Janie swallowed hard and pressed her nails deeper into her palms.
“Your Honor,” Bradford said quickly, “we also raised concerns regarding the mother’s postpartum depression?—”
Janie’s heart lurched. Hannah’s hand closed around hers, tight enough to hurt, as though anchoring her to the moment where she was still allowed to be a mother.
“A condition which is being treated and managed,” Judge Morrison said. “One which has been verified by a licensed psychiatrist.”
Janie blinked.
“Postpartum depression is not parental unfitness. It is not neglect. And it is not an emergency.” Judge Morrison punctuated her sentences with finger stabs to her desk. “What concerns this court is that mental health was raised here not as a matter of care or safety, but as a litigation strategy, exploited in an extremely callous manner.”
