Chapter 44
On Wednesday evening, I fly back to Milwaukee, falling into my familiar routine: Dad waiting at arrivals. A snack in the kitchen with my mom. Bed.
Being this close to Phoebe without seeing her makes me miss her more than if I were still in New York, but Mick and I have decided not to tell her I’m in town until after the judge’s ruling.
The next morning, I grab the keys to my mom’s car, drive to the courthouse, and park out front. It’s a perfect June day—sunny and seventy, flags snapping in the wind.
Inside, I drop my purse in a plastic tray. The security guard waves me forward. Glenn meets me at the elevator, giving a brisk hello and a firm handshake. He’s impeccably dressed—slim navy suit, polished calfskin shoes, silver cuff links that flash when he checks his watch.
“This should be quick,” he says.
I nod, feeling my nerves kick up.
As we step off the elevator, I stop short when I see Mick, sitting on a wooden bench, hands clasped between his knees. He looks up, then rises to shake Glenn’s hand.
“I decided to come,” he says, giving me an uncertain smile. “I thought you might want backup.”
“Thank you,” I say, putting aside my anger.
A strange calm settles over me as I realize we’re in this thing together—at least for now.
We file into the courtroom—Glenn first, then me, then Mick. The room is smaller than I imagined, plain to the point of insult.
We slide onto a bench and wait as another case finishes.
I study the judge’s face, grateful she’s a woman. When our case is called, Glenn leads me to the table.
I sit while he stands. He clears his throat and launches in, smooth and practiced.
He lists my name, my profession, my address—each detail flattened into the record.
Then he outlines Erin’s death and Joan’s health decline.
His tone softens when he shifts to our childhood friendship.
He explains that I was there for Phoebe’s birth, a steady presence during her upbringing.
He does not mention the issue of paternity.
The judge listens, her expression unreadable as she takes a few notes. My hands stay folded on the table, my engagement ring pressing into my skin like a warning.
When Glenn finishes, silence descends. Time thickens. A floorboard creaks. Someone shifts on the bench behind me—Mick, maybe.
Finally, the judge looks up, clears her throat, and says, “Dr. Wright.”
Glenn nudges me with his elbow. “Stand up,” he whispers.
I rise to my feet, my heart pounding.
“After reviewing your petition and the supporting testimony, the court grants you temporary guardianship of the minor child, Phoebe Callahan, for a period of one hundred eighty days,” the judge says evenly.
“This order is contingent upon your establishing residency in the state of Wisconsin for the full duration of that period. Continuity of care and stability are paramount to the court’s decision. ”
I nod as Dean’s voice echoes in my head: We’re on a slippery slope.
“Do you agree to that condition, Dr. Wright?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I say.
She glances down at her notes, then gazes back at me.
“Additionally, Dr. Wright is appointed temporary guardian of the estate for the limited purpose of managing the child’s financial interests, including authorization to sell or transfer real property held in the name of the decedent, Erin Callahan, subject to court oversight. ”
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to speak again, but I thank her anyway.
The judge nods and signs the order. “Temporary guardianship is hereby granted for one hundred eighty days. The court will reconvene at the termination of said period to review the matter and determine next steps.”
Glenn shakes my hand, then approaches the clerk and collects the signed order. I glance back and catch Mick exhaling, his shoulders dropping as if he’s been holding his breath since Erin died.
We all turn and walk out of the courtroom.
“Thank you,” I tell Glenn when we’re back in the hall.
“My pleasure,” he says, handing me the order. “And congratulations.”
I thank him again, pressing the paper to my chest.
Glenn says he’ll be in touch about next steps, then disappears down the hall toward another hearing.
As I head for the elevator, Mick falls into step beside me. It opens, and we step inside.
When the doors close, I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look his way. “Congrats,” he says softly.
“Thanks,” I say, keeping my eyes straight ahead.
The doors slide open, and we walk through the lobby, out of the building, and into the parking lot. A breeze lifts my hair. I smooth it back and meet Mick’s gaze.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod.
“And you’re sure you’re okay with moving back here for six months?”
I give him a half-smile. “Too late now.”
He bites his lip, studying me.
“I’m kidding,” I say, even as worry about Dean tugs at me.
Mick smiles. “Phoebe’s going to be so happy. She really needs you.”
Feeling overcome, I slip on my sunglasses to hide my eyes.
“So what’s the plan?” Mick asks.
“I’ll meet her at the bus today and tell her the news.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“I’m flying back early tomorrow, so I’ll stay at my parents’. Then I’ll be back here in a few days. I’m shooting for Monday.”
“Okay. Just let me know your timing when you figure it out,” he says. “And what you need from me. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
“Thank you, Mick,” I say, feeling my anger loosen its grip a little more.