She’s dabbing at the corner of her eye with a tissue.Again. There are no tears. I almost snort. I know what her real tears look like but, as always, the performance is convincing. The perfect mother, concerned only for her daughter’s wellbeing. As if. I would be happy if she’d be that mother to Livy, she’d deserve to have two caring parents. I would happily co-parent but with Mira it’s just not possible.
When Jenna finally stands to speak, I expect her to pick their arguments apart with that precise, razor-edged clarity I’ve come to admire in her. Instead, she feels off. Slightly unfocused—like something’s bugging her usual sharpness—and I can’t quite tell what, but it makes my feet fidget even more.
“Your Honor,” she begins. “While opposing counsel spins elaborate lies about my client’s intentions, let’s focus on the documented facts. Ms. Reynolds?—”
“Ms. Kirillov,” Goldblatt interrupts sharply.
Something flashes in Jenna’s eyes, but she nods eventually. “Of course. Ms. Kirillov has a documented pattern of neglect that far outweighs any hypothetical concerns about my client’s future travel schedule.”
She presents our evidence again—the daycare records, the medical documentation of Livy’s untreated cut, testimonials from neighbors, from all the people we already invited as witnesses. It’s strong, but I can see the judge’s expression shifting as he weighs it against the new “complications” in my life.
And then Jenna goes still.
She’s staring at a point somewhere beyond the judge, her fingers tapping silently against her legal pad. I recognize this look now—she’s strategizing. But there’s something different about it this time, something almost reckless in the set of her jaw, and for the first time, I’m not so sure anymore whether Livy will be sleeping in my arms tonight.
Goldblatt is back on his feet, talking about the “stability” Mira provides, her “flexible work schedule” as an influencer that allows her to “work from home”. Each lie builds on the last, constructing a fantasy version of Mira that bears no resemblance to the woman who left our daughter alone to party.
But nevertheless, I feel the case slipping away with each word.
Mira promises to never leave her alone again and the judge is nodding slightly—not in agreement—but he’s listening and that’s enough for the knot in my stomach to tighten.
Then Jenna turns to me, her eyes intense in a way I’ve never seen before. My heart bounces against my ripped chest.
“Colton… I need to try something,” she whispers. “It’s crazy. Wild. Idiotic. But I think it might work… but you’ll have to play along, okay?”
“What—”
“Do you trust me?” she cuts in, barely audible.
“Absolutely, yes.”
“Then promise me to play along no matter what I say.”
“I’ll play along.”
She nods once, then stands. I sit next to her, feeling foolish as always, and glance up to notice the slight tremor in her hands. Fuck. What is she doing?
“Your Honor, if I may,” Jenna says. “There’s a relevant fact that hasn’t been entered into evidence yet.”
A fact? What fact? I scan our notes, recalling every detail we discussed. The way she plans to structure our argument, her overall strategy—everything has been laid out. But a new fact? I can’t find anything about it.
Judge Brennan looks surprised too but gestures for her to continue.
“The truth is,” Jenna says, and she reaches for my hand, holding it with a familiarity that feels far too intimate for this setting. “The rumors on the internet are true. Mr. Kirillov and I were recently married.”
The silence that follows is absolute.
I feel every eye in the room snap to us, to our joined hands, to the ring on her finger that now glints under the fluorescent lights of the courtroom. It’s plastic, but if you don’t take it off and examine it, you’d never know. Fucking shit.
“Married?” The judge echoes, peering over his glasses.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Jenna continues smoothly, and I don’t know if I’m just nervous or if I’m getting a heart attack. “We wanted to wait to make it official but since it directly addresses opposing counsel’s concerns about childcare during Mr. Kirillov’s travel obligations, we decided to announce it now.”
Mira’s mouth has fallen open. Her lawyer is frantically whispering to her. I school my features into what I hope is areasonable facsimile of a man whose secret marriage has just been revealed, rather than a man who’s hearing about it for the first time himself. But honestly. What. The. Fuck. I have no idea how I’m supposed to look right now. Are my eyebrows touching my hairline? Is my mouth open? Am I breathing? Shit. I think I’m gonna lose it.
“As Mr. Kirillov’s wife,” Jenna continues, her thumb brushing over the plastic ring in a gesture that looks intimate to anyone watching, “I will be caring for Livy when Colton has away games or if he needs to visit his mother. We’ve already established a family routine that Livy has responded to beautifully.”
This last part isn’t entirely a lie. Livy does light up around Jenna, has since the first day they met. But the rest—I struggle to keep my expression neutral as Jenna spins our fictional marriage into existence.
