Chapter 38 #2
“The court has reviewed the visitation supervisor’s reports, the child’s statements to the court-appointed evaluator, and the arguments of both parties.”
I stop breathing.
“The court finds that supervised visitation has been conducted without safety incident. However, the court notes the evaluator’s observation of”—she glances at the report—“‘a pattern of declining direct engagement by the petitioner, offset by consistent and active involvement from the designated supervisor.’ The court finds this pattern worth continued monitoring.”
Shit.
“The court will extend supervised visitation for an additional six weeks, adding every second Sunday for four hours.”
Every second Sunday.
My stomach drops and holds. The feeling of falling without landing.
“Mr. Canning will continue as the designated responsible adult. If this is a case of the child needing more time to become familiar with the petitioner, as counsel suggests, the extra time on a weekend should be adequate. Use the extra time wisely, Mrs. Canning. The court will be watching.”
Kelsie nods, looking like she’s been handed a generous gift.
I feel sick.
“The court will revisit the question of any further expansion at the conclusion of this extended period. If either party wishes to file additional motions in the interim, they may do so through the appropriate channels.”
She puts her glasses back on. “Anything further?”
“No, Your Honor,” my father says.
“No, Your Honor,” Hargrove says, and the satisfaction in her voice is faint but unmistakable.
“Then we’re adjourned.”
The gavel comes down. The room exhales.
Caleb leans toward me, voice low. “That’s a holding pattern. She’s not giving them escalation.”
“She’s giving them more time.”
“Supervised. With Thomas. And six more weeks of data.” His jaw is set but his eyes are steady. “This is what we planned for, David.”
“I know. Doesn’t mean I like it.” I stand and button my jacket. Then I turn.
Nora’s already rising from the bench, one hand on the back of the seat in front of her, posture straight enough to pass for calm if you don’t know her. I know her. I see the tension in the line of her mouth, the way she’s holding her shoulders too carefully.
I step into her space before anyone else can.
“You OK?” I ask quietly.
It’s a ridiculous question. Of course she isn’t OK. She just got dragged into open court by a woman who would happily set fire to other people’s livelihoods for tactical advantage. But it’s the question I have.
Nora looks at me, and for one brief second all the principal composure slips enough for me to see the hurt under it.
“Yes,” she says.
Then, because she’s Nora and incapable of letting me drown in my own protective fury, she adds, “That was a lie, but I’m functional.”
My hand goes to her elbow. Just enough contact to tell her I’m here, that I saw it, that I’m not letting her stand alone in the blast radius of this.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Her eyes sharpen instantly. “Don’t.”
“She named you in court.”
“She tried to weaponize me in court,” Nora corrects softly. “That’s not the same as succeeding.”
Even now, she’s steadier than I am.
I let out a breath I don’t remember taking in. “Still.”
“David.” Her voice lowers. “Look at me.”
I do.
“I knew this would happen,” she says. “But I knew. I came anyway. I’m more upset that Michaela needs to spend more time with them.”
Something in my chest twists painfully. Love undoes me.
I pull her against me.
One arm around her shoulders, the other firm at her back, drawing her in until her forehead is against my chest and I can finally do something with the helpless, vicious tenderness clawing at the inside of my ribs.
She lets out a breath into my suit jacket, small, warm, and wrecking.
I lower my mouth to her hair and press a kiss to the top of her head because I can’t do anything else without either saying something I’ll regret in front of opposing counsel or starting a war in a courtroom.
When I lift my head, I catch Kelsie watching us.
She’s halfway to the aisle, cream silk immaculate, her attorney at her side, Thomas just behind.
Kelsie’s mouth curves in that faint, polished smile she uses when she thinks she’s landed a blow and wants credit for how elegantly she swung it.
Her eyes slide over Nora with naked contempt, cold, dismissive, and so full of venom that for one bright, dangerous second I understand exactly how men end up saying inadvisable things in front of judges.
I meet Kelsie’s gaze and let every ounce of what I think of her sit there unsoftened.
Then Thomas says, quietly, “Kelsie.”
She turns her head toward him with a delicate frown, all injured innocence. “What?”
“Not here,” he says, guiding her out of the room.
My father closes his file with a quiet snap that somehow carries more finality than the gavel did. Caleb stands. Around us, the courtroom continues its usual post-hearing churn.
“I’ll meet you both back at yours,” Caleb says quietly, placing a hand on my shoulder as he passes. “You did fine, Nora.”
I let Nora go reluctantly but keep my hand at the small of her back as we step into the corridor.
The door swings shut behind us with institutional heaviness.
For a second, the noise of the courthouse rushes back in—voices, shoes on tile, a baby crying somewhere too far away to locate and too close to ignore.
Life going on with total indifference to the fact that mine has just been split into six more weeks and every second Sunday.
My father joins us a moment later. “I want copies of the next two visitation reports the day they’re filed,” he says, already in motion, already ten steps ahead. “If Canning continues to function as the primary point of contact, we document it. Repeatedly. We don’t editorialize. We accumulate.”
“Understood.”
He looks at Nora then, not soft exactly, but less clinical than before. “Ms. Harrison, if opposing counsel contacts the school or the board, notify us immediately.”
“I will.”
He inclines his head once. “Good.” Then to me, “Don’t call Kelsie. Don’t text Kelsie. Don’t under any circumstances indulge the impulse to say what you’re thinking.”
“I’d never do that.”
My father’s expression suggests he finds this statement unsupported by the record.
“David,” he says flatly.
“I won’t.”
“See that you don’t.” He turns and walks away, file under his arm, a silver-headed instrument of legal destruction in a charcoal suit.
Nora watches him go. “Your father’s somehow even more alarming in a courthouse hallway.”
“That was him being reassuring.”
She glances at me. “Jesus.”
I catch her hand once we make it outside and stop her on the courthouse steps.
“Hey.”
She turns to face me.
“I know what you’re thinking, Nora.”
“What am I thinking?”
“That you’re a liability—an inappropriate entanglement.”
Her brows lift. “Am I wrong?”
“Emphatically.” My hand slides around her waist, and I tug her a little closer.
“You’re the woman I love. The reason I sleep at night, and the person my daughter reaches for when she’s scared.
You’re the woman I’m going to walk into every courtroom with until there are no more courtrooms. And if Kelsie’s attorney wants to file a motion about that, my father will bury it so deep it’ll need an archaeological permit to resurface. ”
Something shifts in her face. The professional control cracks slightly, and what’s underneath is the look of someone who has always been the backup plan suddenly hearing she’s the destination.
“That’s very dramatic for a courthouse sidewalk,” she says.
“You’ve met my daughter. She got the theatrics from somewhere.”
She smiles. Then she leans into me—forehead against my shoulder, one breath, two—and I hold her there while the city moves around us, the wind cuts through our coats, and the hearing settles into the past tense where it belongs.
“Can we go home to our daughter now?” she asks and hearing her talk about Michaela like that makes a lump form in my throat and pressure build behind my eyes as I nod.
“Yeah,” I force out. “Let’s go home to our girl.”