Chapter 35 Tasha
thirty-five
tasha
Beside me, Nate's breathing was steady but not deep. He wasn't sleeping either, just lying there in the dark, probably running through legal arguments he'd never had to make, strategies he didn't know how to execute.
I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could, padding to the kitchen for water. The house felt different in the dark—heavier somehow, like it was holding its breath along with us. This could be the last night we spent here as a family.
The thought made my knees buckle, and I found myself gripping the kitchen counter to stay upright.
We were going to lose. Nate was walking into that courtroom with nothing but his love for Paige and some hastily researched legal precedents.
Sarah had money, lawyers, a plan that had been months in the making.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. And it was going to happen anyway.
I needed air. Needed space to fall apart where Nate couldn't see me doing it. He was barely holding himself together as it was.
The back deck was cool and quiet, the summer night air carrying the scent of Mrs. Swanson's roses from next door. Normal suburban life, continuing as if our world wasn't about to implode.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling to Sophia's contact. It was late… too late to be calling anyone. But I couldn't just sit here and do nothing while everything we'd built crumbled around us.
She answered on the fourth ring, her voice alert despite the hour.
"Tasha? What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry for calling so late," I said, my voice already shaking. "I know it's—"
"Don't apologize. What's happening?"
My voice broke. "I need your help."
* * *
The morning of the hearing arrived gray and drizzling, which felt appropriate for what was probably going to be the worst day of our lives.
I stood in front of my bathroom mirror at 5 AM, trying to decide between the conservative navy dress that made me look older or the black suit that made me look more professional.
In the end, I chose the suit. If I was going to watch the man I loved fight for his daughter, I was going to look like someone who belonged in that courtroom.
My phone buzzed. Text from my mother:
Mom
Praying for you all today. Remember, you're stronger than you know.
Somehow she always knew exactly what to say.
After getting out of the shower, I found him in the kitchen making coffee with the same methodical precision he brought to everything else. He was wearing his best suit—the one he'd worn to job interviews and Paige's school performances—and he looked like he was preparing for battle.
"How'd you sleep?" I asked, though the shadows under his eyes already gave me the answer.
"I didn't." He handed me a cup of coffee, his hands steady despite everything. "You?"
"About the same." I set the cup down and pecked him on the cheek. "Where's Paige?"
"Still sleeping. I thought... I thought maybe it was better if she didn't see us leave. She knows something's happening today, but not what."
We'd agonized over this decision for days. How do you tell an eleven-year-old that her biological mother is trying to take her away from the only parent she's ever known? How do you explain that after today, there was a chance—however small—that she might not come home with us?
In the end, we'd decided to tell her we had some "grown-up business" to take care of, and that Mrs. Swanson would watch her until Maya's mom picked her up for a day of fun and a sleepover. Normal summer plans, as if this was just another Tuesday.
"Mrs. Swanson should be here any minute," Nate said, checking his watch. "Maya's mom is picking Paige up around ten for their day out."
As if summoned by his words, there was a soft knock at the front door. Nate opened it to reveal Mrs. Swanson, looking unusually fierce despite her perfectly coiffed silver bob and floral cardigan.
"Morning, you two," she said, stepping inside with the kind of determined energy that suggested she was ready for battle.
She looked between us, taking in our formal attire and obvious tension.
"So today's the day that worthless twat waffle thinks she can waltz back in after eleven years and steal my Paige? "
Despite everything, a startled laugh escaped me. "Mrs. Swanson!"
"Over my dead body," she continued, setting her purse down with emphatic finality.
"I've been thinking about this all night, and I want you both to know—if things don't go the way they should today, that woman will have to go through me to get to our girl.
And I didn't survive thirty years of middle schoolers to be intimidated by some entitled princess with a law degree. "
Nate's mouth twitched, the first hint of something other than despair I'd seen from him all morning. "Marion, I—"
"No," she cut him off, reaching up to straighten his tie like a mother sending her son off to war.
"You listen to me, Nathan Crawford. You are that child's father in every way that matters.
You've earned that title through sleepless nights and scraped knees and homework battles.
Some DNA donor doesn't get to swoop in and undo eleven years of love just because she finally decided being a mother might be convenient. "
The fierce protectiveness in her voice, combined with her continued use of "twat waffle," made my throat tight with unexpected emotion. This woman, who owed us nothing, was ready to go to war for our family.
Suddenly, the reality of it all hit me like a physical blow, and I had to fight down waves of nausea.
There was a real possibility that we wouldn't see Paige tonight.
That Sarah's lawyers and money and manipulation would win, and an eleven-year-old girl would be ripped away from the only family she'd ever known.
"We should go," Nate said, checking his watch. "I want to get there early, maybe observe the courtroom before..."
He didn't finish the sentence. Before the slaughter, I thought grimly.
The drive to the courthouse was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Nate had spent the past five days researching family law, printing out case studies, preparing arguments that would probably sound amateur compared to Sarah's high-powered attorney. But he'd tried. God, he'd tried so hard.
"Whatever happens in there," I said as we pulled into the courthouse parking lot, "I want you to know that you're an incredible father. The best man I've ever known. And I'm proud to fight alongside you."
He reached over and took my hand, squeezing gently. "Thank you for being here. For being part of this family."
Family. The word hit me differently this morning, weighted with everything we stood to lose.
Inside the courthouse, we found the family court waiting area, a beige nightmare of uncomfortable chairs and fluorescent lighting. Sarah was already there, looking polished and confident next to a man in an expensive suit who could only be her lawyer.
She caught sight of us and smiled… the same practiced, empty smile she'd worn during that disastrous coffee shop meeting. Like she'd already won.
Maybe she had.