"Remember," Ms. Chen says quietly. "Stay calm. Don't engage directly. Let me handle the talking."
"What if she?—"
"I'll handle it."
We push through the doors, and there she is.
Jessica looks different from the way she did three weeks ago when she showed up high at my house. Cleaner. Her hair is washed and styled, she's wearing a conservative dress, and her makeup is done. She looks closer to the woman I remember fromone night a year and a half ago, the one who didn't tell me her last name in the morning.
Almost.
But I can see the slight tremor in her hands. The way her eyes dart around the room. The tightness in her jaw suggests she's barely holding it together.
Her lawyer is a middle-aged man in an expensive suit, and he smiles professionally as we sit down across from them.
"Thank you all for coming," the mediator, a woman in her sixties with kind eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, says. "We're here to see if we can reach an agreement without going to trial. Ms. Torres, would you like to start?"
Jessica clears her throat, and when she speaks, her voice is soft, almost fragile.
"I made a mistake." She's looking down at her hands, not at me. "I was scared and overwhelmed and suffering from severe postpartum depression. I wasn't in my right mind when I left Harper with Tyler. I thought it was temporary. That I'd get help and come back for her."
"But you didn't," Ms. Chen says. "For almost eight months."
"I was in treatment. Getting sober. Learning to manage my mental health." Jessica's lawyer slides a folder across the table. "We have documentation. Rehab completion, therapy sessions, clean drug tests."
Ms. Chen examines the documents, her expression neutral. I'm trying to read them upside down from across the table, but all I can make out are official-looking letterheads.
"These are dated recently," Ms. Chen says. "The rehab completion was from two weeks ago."
"Ms. Torres has been working hard on her recovery," her lawyer says smoothly. "She's ready to be a mother to her daughter now. She's stable, sober, and eager to make up for lost time."
"Lost time she chose to lose," Ms. Chen counters. "Mr. West made multiple attempts to contact Ms. Torres in those firstweeks. Texts, calls, all unanswered. She made a conscious choice to abandon her infant daughter."
"She was sick?—"
"She was using drugs. There's a difference."
The mediator holds up a hand. "Let's keep this productive. Ms. Torres, what are you asking for?"
Jessica finally looks at me, and I see something calculated in her eyes that makes my skin crawl.
"I want my daughter back. Full custody. Or at minimum, fifty-fifty shared custody." Her voice gets stronger. "She's my child. I carried her; I gave birth to her. Tyler's done a good job taking care of her temporarily, but she belongs with her mother."
Temporarily.
Like almost eight months of my life, learning how to be a father, falling in love with Harper every single day, like that's all just temporary.
"Mr. West has been Harper's sole caregiver since she was eight weeks old," Ms. Chen says. "He's provided a stable home, excellent medical care, and consistent love and attention. Harper is thriving under his care."
"With help from his live-in girlfriend," Jessica's lawyer says, and there's an edge to his voice now. "A romantic relationship that began while Ms. Collins was employed as a nanny. Hardly the most stable arrangement."
Nora's hand tightens on mine.
"Ms. Collins has been integral to Harper's care and stability," Ms. Chen responds. "Her presence is an asset, not a liability."
"We'll let the judge decide that."
The mediation continues for another ninety minutes, with both lawyers going back and forth, presenting evidence and making arguments. Jessica plays the victim beautifully. Tearful when describing her postpartum depression, earnest when talking about her recovery, desperate when discussing missing almost eight months of Harper's life.