Bri nods against my shirt. “Yes.”
I ease back so I can see her face. She chews her lip, glances at Maggie, then up at me.
“Dad, can I tell you something before we go in?”
“Anything,” I murmur, knowing what she’s going to say. “Always.”
“I think I want to try seeing Mom again. Not a lot. Not all at once. Just sometimes. With rules. And if it feels bad, I want to stop. I don’t want you to be mad.” She swallows.
“I’m not mad, sweetheart.”
Her eyes flick to mine. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“You’re not,” I say, meaning it. “I’m glad you told me what you want. We’ll do it your way. If it ever stops feeling right, we change it. I’ll respect your wishes no matter what.”
Bri’s shoulders loosen a fraction. “Okay.”
“We’ll talk to the judge about whatyouwant,” I add. “You don’t have to pick sides to love the people you love.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I touch her cheek gently. “Thankyoufor being honest.”
Maggie squeezes her shoulder. “We’ll be right behind you.”
I nod, pull Bri in for one more quick hug, then straighten. “All right, Piglet. Let’s go.”
Finally, we’re called in.
Vanessa is already at the counsel table with her attorney, and turns when we enter, giving me a sly smirk, the kind that says she thinks she’s going to win before the first word is even on the record.
My mouth is halfway to a reply I’ll regret when Ryan’s hand lands on my forearm. I clamp my jaw shut.
Vanessa shifts her attention to Brianna. For a second, I see the old softness in her eyes. Brianna feels the look, stiffens, and darts her gaze to the floor.
The clerk rattles through the preliminaries. Then Judge Martinez enters in her black robe and lays out the ground rules:time limits, order of presentation, what she’ll consider, what she won’t. It’s brisk, clear, a map I can walk.
Mya isn’t here yet, but just as the thought burrs under my skin, she slips in, quietly, eyes scanning the room until they find us.
Our gazes catch. She winces and mouths ‘sorry.’ I give her a small smile I don’t have to try for.She made it.That’s all that matters.
Counsel goes first. Vanessa’s attorney paints a soft picture: maternal bond, renewed stability, earnest intent. Then he goes after me: tabloid clippings, gala photos, the “playboy CEO image” narrative he hopes will stick. He says ‘image’like it’s evidence and tries to make headlines stand in for parenting.
Ryan doesn’t bite. When it’s our turn, he lays brick: school records, medical continuity, extracurriculars, Bri’s stated preferences, a home that’s been steady and safe for years. He adds that I’m now married, and that my wife has a strong, supportive relationship with Brianna that reinforces—not replaces—my role as her parent.
Questions follow. Judge Martinez to Ryan, to the other side, then to me. I keep my answers clean: Bri’s routine, who gets her to school, who signs the forms, who meets with teachers. When Vanessa’s lawyer prods at money and reputation—your dating history, Mr. Miller? Frequent companions?I refuse the bait.
“My personal life has never interfered with Brianna’s care,” I say. “Her needs come first. Always. And my marriage has only added extra stability to her day-to-day life.”
When the judge asks about Bri’s wishes, Ryan cites the counselor’s letter and notes she prefers to speak through counsel. Martinez nods, satisfied.
It feels like hours and minutes at once. I grip the edge of the pew and keep breathing.
“I’m ready to rule,” Judge Martinez says.
She acknowledges Vanessa’s intent, notes the recent effort, then turns to the weight of evidence.
“On balance,” she says, “it is in the best interest of the minor child that primary residency and decision-making remain with Mr. Miller.”