We just had our last hearing. At least for now because even if we’re granted full custody of Livy, this isn’t going to be over for a long time. No one wants to take Livy from her mother forever. She’ll have to prove that she wants to be in Livy’s life and maybe we can arrange some different settings in the future, but that means more courtrooms. But for now, we’re just waiting for the judge’s decision.
Livy sits cross-legged under the windowsill, buried in my tablet. She doesn’t look up, not even when I tell her the Wi-Fi password. There’s a plush falcon peeking out from her backpack, which I choose to interpret as a good omen, because if today goes badly, I’m going to need at least one. After all this time, Livy and her dad became my life. I can’t afford to let that slip away from me again.
“Do you want some water?” I ask, not sure which of them I’m even addressing. Livy mumbles, “No thanks,” without looking up, and Colton shifts his weight just enough that I know he heard me but is pretending not to. He’s nervous. But I am too.
Botox Batman glides past us with a coffee cup that definitely contains something stiffer, and Mira is trailing two paces behind, punching angry texts into her phone with the same ferocity I imagine she once reserved for Colton’s face. She jerks her head up and looks at me, and I know she deeply hates me. Oh, I know. But the feeling is mutual.
And then judge Brennan pokes his head out. “Davis and Goldblatt?”
I take a deep breath, which does nothing, then another, which also does nothing, then collect my bag, my notes, and all the bits of myself that are not currently liquefied. Colton bends down and whispers something to Livy in Russian. She tips her face up to him and blinks like a puppy trying very hard to understand important instructions.
When I glance back to give her an encouraging smile, Colton’s parents are already at her side.
My stomach drops a little at the sight.
His mother looks stronger than she did a week ago, color returning to her cheeks. But recovery is relative. We all know what waits on the other side of this hearing: more tests, more doctors, the looming reality that she’ll probably need a kidney transplant soon.
One crisis at a time, I tell myself.
Today, we survive this one.
The hearing is supposed to be “closed,” which means only the essential parties are allowed, but the courtroom feels crowded anyway: two lawyers, two clients, and the presence of six separate bureaucratic deities who all have something to say about what makes a family.
Judge Brennan looks even less amused to see us than last time. He sighs and starts with his conclusion. “The court finds that, while both parents have exhibited lapses in judgment, the current custodial arrangement is in the best interest of the child. Effective immediately, primary custody is transferred to Mr. King, with supervised visitation for Ms. Kirillov each weekend, subject to the ongoing review of Family Services.” He glares over his glasses. “If Ms. Kirillov can demonstrate consistent, responsible caregiving, the court will consider expanding visitation to include overnights in the future.”
Colton takes my hand and I squeeze it with watery eyes.
We did it. We actually did.
“We won,” I say and he leans in and kisses me in front of everyone.
“Like I said, you are the best lawyer there is.”
I notice Goldblatt sweeping by with a huff and a tight-lipped smile that promises retribution in a thousand legal filings. Mira barely looks at Colton, but I catch the glare she sends me and, for a second, I feel a flicker of what she must feel: the cold sting of losing something you were sure you’d already won. Delusional bitch.
Outside the courtroom, it’s chaos. Ethan is waiting for us and as soon as we step into the hallway, he starts talking in a low, urgent voice about “media handling” and “preapproved statements.” Colton waves him off, and I think Ethan wants to strangle him but thinks better of it. Too many lawyers, I guess.
Livy stands next to me, clutching the falcon and looking up with those giant, unblinking eyes. She says, “Can I really stay with Daddy?”
I crouch down, so we’re at eye level, and say, “Yes, bug. That’s what you wanted, right?”
She nods with a big, big smile and lets the falcon peck at my hand, then giggles. “Thank you for saving us, Jenna.”
Colton approaches, his hands in the pockets of his stupidly expensive overcoat. “Thank you,” he says, in a voice that’s almost too soft for his size. “This means everything.”
“It’s not over,” I say, because I can’t let a win go unpunished. “You have to actually be a good parent, or they’ll take her right back. Child Services will be watching.”
“I know.” He looks at Livy, and something in his face goes unguarded for a millisecond. “I will not let her down.”
I stand up again and kiss him. “I know.”
Ethan appears again, not even blinking at me. “Colton, you’re onThe Dirty Jerseyin forty minutes. Can we take your car or?—?”
“Sure,” Colton says to Ethan and turns back to me. “Then I’ll see you at home? I hope your best friend is nice to me.”
“Of course,” I say. “But maybe she’ll roast you a little.”
If you’ve never hada post-trial hangover. It’s kind of like getting over the flu but with more e-mails and less soup. I spend the rest of the day in a fugue state, frantically drafting the official custody order, responding to five million “urgent” client requests, and deleting a series of congratulatory e-mails.
