In the hall, Dre lifts a hand in a supportive, steadying wave. I answer with a nod I hope looks braver than I feel and step into the elevator. The doors close. For thirty seconds, it’s just me and my reflection.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I unlock the car.
Maggie:
Just picked up Bri from school. We’ll meet you at the courthouse. She’s got her sketchbook. She’s okay.
The breath leaves me in a measured exhale.
I slide into the driver’s seat and rest my hands on the wheel, knuckles white and veins up like they want to explode. I think about Bri and how scared she must be. I think about Mya’s comforting words to her last night. And something in me cracks open again.
The drive is a blur. When I arrive at the courthouse, I kill the engine, and sit there a moment. The binder on the passenger seat is almost burning a hole in the leather. Inside, the life I built for my daughter is itemized and justified. It’s absurd but necessary.
Ryan texts just as I step onto the curb.
Ryan:
I’m inside by security. Second-floor family court. We’ve got courtroom 2B. Vanessa is here with counsel.
He meets me at the base of the stairs, jaw set. “How we doing?”
“Ready.” Because I am, even if my pulse disagrees. “Maggie is bringing Bri.”
“Good. We’re solid, Worth. Judge Martinez is efficient and thorough. We’ll lead with stability and Bri’s preferences, then education and medical continuity. Vanessa’s counsel filed a late supplemental about ‘maternal bond.’ It’s a throw, so don’t bite.”
“I won’t.”
Ryan starts walking, and I match his pace. We pass the bulletin board of schedules, the vending machines, a man in a too-big suit twisting a hat in his hands.
At the top of the stairs, the corridor opens to a row of benches. I check my phone once more, and there’s a message from Mya.
Mya:
Be there in 10.
A weight is lifted off my chest.
I wasn’t sure she’d show up today. Even after the moment we shared last night, guilt slips in over the distance I put between us. She drew those lines because she needed them. I respect that. But I won’t beat myself up for feeling what I feel.
“Two letters arrived this morning,” Ryan says, breaking me out of my thoughts. He flips his pad open. “Counselor and activity coordinator. Both are strong. I’ve got them tabbed and ready to hand them up if the judge wants them.”
Across the hall, the courtroom door swings open and a clerk calls a name that isn’t mine. I inhale, count to four, exhale, count to four. It’s a trick a therapist taught me a lifetime ago. Sometimes I remember to use it.
My phone buzzes again.
Maggie:
We’re here. Brianna wants to talk to you before you go in.
I tuck the device away and tell Ryan I’ll be right back. He nods. “Go. I’ll hold our spot.”
“Thanks.”
Down the stairs, I spot Maggie in her blue cardigan, Bri with her sketchbook hugged to her chest, eyes brave. She smiles when she sees me.
I open my arms and my daughter steps into them like she always does. And my heart finds its rhythm.
“Hey, Piglet,” I say into her hair. “You ready?”