Page 75 of Louder Than Words

But the moment Trevor and Marissa walked in this morning, it was like someone pulled a tripwire straight to my stomach. After that? I haven’t been able to stop.

I glance at my phone and groan. Five more minutes.

That’s five more minutes to be alone. To breathe. To remind myself that no matter what happens in that courtroom, I’m a damn good mom—and I don’t deserve any of this.

Now I just have to believe it.

I push myself off the cold bathroom floor, rinse my mouth, wash my hands, and do my best to pull it together. Then I slip back into the lobby like nothing ever happened.

The second my back hits the bench, Ana’s head snaps toward me.

“Again?” she asks, already digging in her purse. She hands me a tissue without waiting for an answer.

I take it, dabbing the corners of my mouth. “Shut up.”

She pulls me in, letting my head rest on her shoulder as I breathe slowly in through my nose, and out through my mouth, willing this nausea to stay down this time.

Then—hands on my shoulders startle me.

I snap upright, spinning so fast in my seat it nearly makes me dizzy. Then a pair of blue eyes find mine. And suddenly, I feel safe again. Like nothing could hurt me, and that maybe everything really will be okay.

My hand reaches out, cupping his rough stubble in the palm of my hand. “What are you doing here?” I ask, my fingers still resting against his skin.

He shrugs, smiling softly. “Sure, Ana’s got the tissues. But I’ve gotyou.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but before they have a chance to fall, the grand doors swing open.

“Monroe v. Windsor?” a shorter man with a receding hairline calls into the nearly empty hall.

Oh god, I’m definitely going to hurl again…

I swallow it down the best I can and peel myself off the creaking bench to make my way into the courtroom. The room is huge—almost too big for something as small as a family matter. There are at least fifty chairs, all lined up facing the judge’s bench, with two small rectangular tables sitting just in front.

Jax’s hand slips from mine as I force my way through the swinging doors and stand beside my seat on the left.

After a few quiet moments, the courtroom doors swing open again, and the judge walks in. Her long robe brushes the floor as she makes her way to the bench, eyes peeking over the rim of her thin-framed glasses.

I swallow hard, fighting to hold down the nausea the moment her gaze lands on mine. Because for some reason? I have a bad feeling about this.

She nods briefly at the court clerk before taking her seat, flipping open a thick manila envelope and quickly scanning the pages inside. I’m so focused on her that I barely hear the bailiff announce it’s okay to sit—hell, I didn’t even hear him tell anyone to stand, but thankfully, I already was.

The second I connect with my seat, my eyes betray me—drifting across the room to where Trevor sits. But it’s not him I focus on.

It’s the manila envelope resting on the table in front of him. A cold squeeze wraps around my spine when I realize… Trevor’s more prepared than I am.

I came with nothing. Honestly, I didn’t expect him to bring anything. What could he even have brought? All the receipts for everything I paid for? Proof of the two weekends he decided to be a “good dad” for once? Why is he so dead-set on making me look bad?

I quickly turn, searching Ana and Jax’s faces, tears brimming in my eyes and confusion clouding my mind.

Ana leans forward slightly. “You got this,” she whispers, just loud enough for only me to hear.

The snapping sound of papers hitting the table startles me. When I turn, Judge Reinbeck’s eyes are locked on Trevor and me, making me want to shrivel in my seat.

“Before we begin,” she says, leaning forward in her chair, “I want to be clear about how this hearing will proceed. Today, we will address concerns from both parents. However, I will not be issuing a final ruling today. At our next hearing, I will hear character witnesses. After all testimony has been reviewed, a final decision will be delivered by mail.” She pauses, her gaze sweeping over every face in the courtroom, and my mind freezes.

In the mail?How is that even ethical? Or humane, for that matter. Forcing a parent to sit by the window, wondering if their entire world is about to be flipped upside down. Wondering if they’ll still be allowed to parent the next day.

That sounds like… torture.