The mediator nods. She’s worked with me before; she knows my style.
“Nevertheless, Mr. Boylan arrived unscheduled at the home on May twentieth, banging on the door until after 11 PM.” I pusha printout of the Ring app notification across the table. “I have the footage, should you?—
“No need.” Brinton interrupts. “My client admits to being present, but only out of concern that his daughter was in distress.”
“So concerned that he threatened to call the police if he wasn’t permitted entry.” I turn toward Mrs. Boylan, holding her gaze for support, and see her flinch. “If it would help, I can recite the transcript, or I can send it to you, Ms. Grey.”
The mediator, Ms. Grey, waves her pen. “Just the highlights, please.”
“‘Open the door, or I swear to fucking God I’ll make this a CPS case,’” I read. “That was to a four-year-old, who was peeking through the mail slot, by the way. All that banging and hollering you did woke your four-year-old up. Bet you didn’t know that.” I let that land. Even Brinton’s face does a weird crash-and-reboot.
“I think,” Ms. Grey says, dry as a saltine, “that’s sufficient. Mr. Fell?—?”
Brinton’s still rattled, but collects himself, putting on the high-gloss lawyer smile. “Emotions do run high. That’s why we’re here. Both parties want?—”
“Let’s talk substance.” I look directly at Mr. Fell. “So, Mr. Boylan claims in his affidavit that my client is ‘alienating’ their daughter. Yet in the last month, he missed four of six weekday pickups without warning. He refused to respond to multiple emails regarding makeup time.” I push copies of the emails across the table. “I can also produce text logs, calendar records, and a pediatric therapist’s letter indicating my client is following all best practices for co-parenting. And more if you’d like.”
“There’s no need to drown us in paperwork,” Brinton protests, but one glance at the mediator tells me he’s just lost control of the narrative.
“Actually,” Ms. Grey begins, “I’d like to see it all. Please forward your documentation by close of business.” I keep my face neutral, but my foot bounces under the table in silent victory.
Time moves slowly as hearing turns into the usual back-and-forth, the mediator looks bored but focused. My nerves start to wear thin—not because of the legal work, but because I’m tired and sore. Finally, Ms. Grey calls a recess.
I steer Mrs. Boylan into the deserted witness break room, propping the door shut with my heel. “That went well,” I try to assure her. She stands trembling, her whole body wound tight, gripping her purse strap as if bracing for impact. “You did great. Brinton’s reeling.”
“It doesn’t feel like I’m winning,” she whispers. Her hands are white knuckled on her purse strap. “It just feels… endless.”
There it is. Clients rarely unravel in front of the judge or mediator. They save it for the privacy of a hallway or a room like this, with a humming vending machine and threadbare carpet. No matter how much you prep them, no one is fully prepared for how mediation slowly wears you down.
“He told me once that I’d never win because I don’t know how to fight.” Her voice shakes, tears suddenly streaming down her cheek. “But I’m here, and all I can think about is how much I want this to just stop.” She leans over, and I silently pass her the box of tissues on the table.
You never really get used to seeing someone’s pain up close. It still gets to me every time.
Ten minutes later, we’re back in the ring. Brinton is unbothered, already rolling out a fresh strategy: suddenly, his client is open to a ‘creative resolution’—less child support, more ‘face time,’ as if anyone with sense would bite. I dismantle the idea, cite case law, and watch the mediator’s eyes glaze and clearin a slow-motion loop. At this point, the only sport left is racking up points against Brinton, and honestly, it’s barely a challenge.
Finally, by 2 PM, the mediation ends, and I am free to limp back to the office. Though Dr. Montiel said I was clear to come back to work, I shouldn’t be pushing it and wearing these damn heels is, in fact, pushing it.
I call Caleb and give him a quick update. “Brinton folded at the end. We locked down primary custody but prepare for more social media drama.”
He congratulates me and adds, “Thank you for going to the mediation at the last minute. I’m sure Jasmyn will be happy to hear the outcome. You can take the rest of the day off if you need. I know how mentally exhausting it is to do mediation and dealing with Brinton.”
That sounds like music to my ears. I let him know I will be taking the day, and I immediately text Aaron.
Me
Just got the rest of the day off… are you still at the firm?
Aaron
Packing up my things now. Meet me in the parking garage if you’re near the office. If not, I can come pick you up from the courthouse.
Me
Courthouse.
Aaron
On my way.
