Chapter 20
Tessa
It’s wild how fast time moves.
It feels like yesterday we won the title, and somehow months have already gone by.
I lie on my back staring at the ceiling on my side of the bed. Because I have a side now. Permanent. Claimed. Today I don’t want to get up. I’m scared of what might happen.
But Wes has other plans and babbles through the monitor.
“I’ve got it,” I mumble, even though Zoe doesn’t move. She doesn’t want to leave the bed either.
“Teh!” he shrieks, sitting up in his crib and throwing his arms out so I’ll scoop him up.
That’s my only good moment of the day, because at ten we’re at the courthouse for the custody review.
Same beige building. Same dry, recycled air. Same hallways I walked six months ago with sweaty palms and my heart jammed in my throat.
Even the judge wears the same neutral face when we enter the courtroom.
Nate is already at the other table with Harrington, his attorney. Gray suit. Blue tie. The look of a man who plans to squeeze harder and call it fatherhood.
“We are here for the scheduled custody review in Méndez v. Henderson. I have reviewed all documentation submitted by both parties,” the judge says.
She pauses, long enough for the room to feel smaller, then shifts her gaze to Yvonne.
“Ms. Park, anything to add?”
Yvonne stands.
“Your Honor, we have submitted extensive documentation showing that Wesley has thrived over the last six months in Ms. Méndez’s care.
Pediatric reports reflect above-average development.
Evaluations highlight his sociability and emotional well-being.
We also provided evidence of a stable home with two consistent parental figures and a very broad support network. ”
The judge nods, then turns to Nate’s counsel.
“Mr. Harrington?”
“Your Honor, my client maintains his concerns about the environment in which his son is being raised.”
“What concerns are those?”
Silence.
“Mr. Harrington, I just asked you a question.”
“My client…” Harrington glances at Nate, but he doesn’t look as confident as he did six months ago. “My client believes the public exposure and media scrutiny the child may face, given the mother’s occupation, is not beneficial for a child so young.”
The judge removes her glasses. Slowly. Then she looks straight at Nate.
“Mr. Henderson.”
Nate straightens his spine like posture can make a weak argument stand up.
“I have reviewed your communications with this court over the past six months,” she continues, eyes locked on him. “Three requests to modify custody. None with legal merit. None supported by evidence of neglect or danger to the minor.”
Nate opens his mouth, but the judge raises one hand and cuts him off.
“I am not finished, and I have not recognized you to speak,” she says, voice cold and flat.
“An anonymous complaint was filed with the league alleging a conflict of interest. It was dismissed after a brief investigation. Two attempts to use media coverage as evidence of poor parental judgment. One attempt to challenge the stability of the home based solely on the sexual orientation of the parental figures and part of their workplace environment.”
The silence in the room turns absolute. It has weight. It presses on my chest.
“Your attorney has argued that you are concerned about your son’s media exposure, correct?” the judge asks, eyebrows lifting as she opens a brown folder in front of her. “Interestingly, this court has received substantial documentation that suggests a very different picture.”
At those words, Nate goes stiff. Harrington leans in and whispers something to him.
“During the weekends the minor has been in your custody, your current partner, Ms…” The judge pauses and checks her notes. “Brittany Lawson, has posted a total of forty-seven photographs and videos of the minor on social media. That is in the last six months alone.”
I look at Zoe. She holds still, but her hands clamp together on the table so tight her knuckles pale.
“Forty-seven posts,” the judge repeats. “In contrast, Ms. Méndez has posted exactly three photographs of her child in the same period, all in private family contexts.”
Harrington clears his throat.
“Your Honor, freedom of expression—”
“Do not interrupt me, counsel,” the judge orders without even looking at him. “My concern is not only the quantity, but the content.”
Her expression hardens as she pulls out printed photos.
“On October fourteenth, the minor appears on a recreational boat in open water. No life jacket. He is eleven months old in that photograph. The caption states, and I quote: ‘Little Wes’s first day sailing. He loves the ocean!’ The minor is crying in the image.”
My stomach turns. Acid rises in my throat. I don’t want to imagine what that does to Zoe, sitting beside me, trying to keep her face calm while her whole body fights to break.
“On November third,” the judge continues, “the minor appears at a wild animal facility, specifically beside the fence of a large feline enclosure. This was a paid collaboration with the establishment. The minor is under one year old in that photograph.”
Zoe brings a hand to her mouth. Her breath catches. I hear it, small and sharp.
“On December twenty-first, the minor appears seated on the hood of a moving vehicle alongside Mr. Henderson’s girlfriend. The vehicle is described as traveling on a private road, presumably at low speed, but the risk is obvious. That post has over five million views.”
The judge closes the folder with a crisp smack that makes me flinch.
“I could continue, but I will not exhaust the courtroom. Mr. Henderson, you have come before this court claiming concern about your son’s media exposure.
The evidence shows that it is precisely during your custodial time that the minor has been exposed in a systematic, irresponsible, and at times dangerous manner, and for commercial purposes. ”
Nate goes white. Not pale. White.
“Your Honor,” his attorney says, rising, “my client had no knowledge of—”
“Your client has a legal duty to supervise the minor’s well-being during custodial time. Ignorance does not relieve him of that duty, and it speaks poorly to the sincerity of his concern,” the judge says, then turns back to Nate. “Did you know your partner was posting these images?”
Silence.
“Mr. Henderson. I asked you a question.”
“I… some. I knew about some of them, not all and—”
“And you did not consider it inappropriate to photograph an eleven-month-old child on a boat without a life jacket? Because you were also on that boat.”
Nate doesn’t answer.
“Mr. Henderson, this court exists to protect the welfare of minors. We do not exist to be used as a weapon in personal disputes, and we cannot ignore a series of glaring negligent acts while you accuse others of the same.”
The judge takes her glasses off again and sets them on the bench with deliberate care.
“I have reviewed this case thoroughly given its media attention. Ms. Méndez has shown, consistently and repeatedly, that she is a dedicated, capable, protective mother. She has provided a stable home, a strong support network, and she has prioritized her child’s well-being above any other consideration. ”
She pauses, long enough that the words sink into the bones of the room, long enough that Nate has to sit there and take them.
“You, Mr. Henderson, have demonstrated the opposite,” she adds, pointing at him with her index finger. “Therefore, this court revokes Mr. Nathan Henderson’s shared custody rights effective immediately.”
Nate jerks up from his chair.
“You can’t do that!”
“Sit down, Mr. Henderson! Another interruption and I will have you removed from this courtroom. I can, and I am.” Her voice sharpens.
“Revised Code of Washington, section 26.09 grants me authority to modify custody when there is evidence of neglect or danger to the minor. In this case, there is, along with clear intent to use the child for commercial gain.”
Harrington grips Nate’s arm and forces him back into his seat.
“Full physical and legal custody is awarded to Ms. Zoe Méndez,” the judge concludes.
“This is ridiculous,” Nate mutters through clenched teeth. “They’re just photos.”
“Mr. Henderson,” the judge growls, eyes on him, “one more word and I will hold you in contempt. Do you understand me?”
Nate shuts his mouth and fists his hands on the table.
“This court also imposes a five-thousand-dollar sanction for abuse of process, given the pattern of frivolous and unsupported filings in the last six months. If you file another motion without substantial merit, the sanction will be significantly higher. The justice system does not exist for you to waste its time on disputes without legal basis.”
Nate’s attorney shakes his head, slow and tired. I don’t think he takes another call from his client.
“Ms. Méndez.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Zoe says, lifting her head. She trembles a little, emotion right under her skin.
“Take care of your son. This court trusts you will continue to do so with the same dedication you have shown thus far.”
“I will, Your Honor. Thank you,” Zoe promises, her voice dropping until it’s almost a whisper.