Chapter 7 #2
I’d learned the hard way that people like that didn’t care how badly you needed them to believe you. In a courtroom, need was irrelevant. What mattered was what could be proven. What survived cross-examination. What still stood when the story was stripped down to facts and filings.
I didn't know yet if that was good or bad for us.
The caseworker's report came first. Sandra Reeves stood at the front of the courtroom, reading from her notes in that carefully neutral voice I'd come to dread.
"Since the last assessment, Ms. Santos has informed the department of a significant change in circumstances," the department’s representative began.
"She has relocated to a ranch property outside of West Valley Springs and has entered into a marriage with a Mr. Liam Murphy.
However, due to the timing of these filings, the department has not yet completed a formal investigation. "
Judge Morrison’s pen stopped moving. She peered over her glasses at the caseworker. "So, as it stands, we have a child in a new home with a new parental figure, and the state hasn't put eyes on either of them?"
"That is correct, Your Honor." Sandra’s tone stayed even, procedural.
"Our protocol in non-emergency relocations is to perform an initial safety inspection within forty-eight hours to verify the physical environment.
However," she glanced at her notes, "I am requesting that the comprehensive social study—the deep dive into the household's stability—be delayed for thirty days. "
The judge arched an eyebrow. "Explain."
My shoulders tightened before I could stop them. Thirty days landed heavy in my chest, my breath shortening as if my body had already started counting.
"In cases of recent marriage, the department prefers to observe the child’s integration after the honeymoon period has settled. We want to see the family’s routine once the initial performative phase has passed."
Beside me, Liam sat perfectly still, but heat rolled off him in waves. My stomach turned slow and sick. I glanced at him without meaning to—just long enough to confirm he was still there, still solid—before looking forward again.
Forty-eight hours for the house. Thirty days for the lie.
Judge Morrison made a sharp note, then turned to Todd's lawyer. "Mr. Hendricks. Your response?"
Todd’s lawyer stood. Slick. Polished. The kind of man whose voice already made my stomach tighten. He looked like someone who never got his hands dirty, who let words do the damage for him—clean, precise, deniable—while people like Todd stood back and watched the bleeding.
"Your Honor, 'concerns' is insufficient to address the seriousness of the issue. The marriage between Ms. Santos and Mr. Murphy took place only three days following the proposal. We have a child living in an unvetted environment with a man who was, until ten minutes ago, an individual with no prior documented involvement in the child’s life.
We believe this is a transparent, strategically timed arrangement designed solely to manipulate these proceedings.
To leave Mia in that home for even thirty days without a comprehensive investigation poses a material risk. "
The words material risk landed like a punch. My chest tightened, breath catching hard and fast, the old fear snapping awake—the kind that remembered locked doors, raised voices, the way danger could be argued into existence by people who’d never lived it.
No matter how clearly I could see that Liam was different, the ghost of my mother’s choices rose up anyway, heavy and familiar.
The aftermath I’d grown up counting on my fingers—the consequences written in bruises and silence—pressed in close, reminding me how easily trust could turn into something that hurt.
Judge Morrison’s eyes moved to me. Assessing. Weighing. They didn’t skim. They lingered, taking inventory. My posture. The set of my shoulders. The way my hands were locked together in my lap, the ring catching the light when I shifted.
It was the look of someone trained to notice what didn’t match the story. To smell bullshit not in the words, but in the body.
Diana Lawson, our lawyer, was discreet and small in stature.
It didn’t stop her from earning respect the moment she spoke.
"Your Honor, my client and Mr. Murphy have worked together at the West Valley Springs fire station for over two years.
They have built a foundation of trust and mutual respect in one of the most high-stakes environments imaginable.
They didn't need a three-year courtship to know they could rely on one another to provide a home for this child. "
She paused. Let the silence do some of the work. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, steadier—less argument, more certainty. "This isn’t manipulation. This is two people who have proven their reliability under the most extreme circumstances, choosing to build a life together."
She didn’t rush the next part. Didn’t soften it either.
“We welcome the safety check. We welcome the study.” A slight nod, almost imperceptible. “We have nothing to hide.”
I kept my face neutral. Kept my breathing steady. But the words landed somewhere unexpected, somewhere deep in my chest that I'd been trying to keep locked.
Trust. Mutual respect. Choosing to build a life together.
The words were meant for the judge. Legal strategy designed to bridge the gap that the missing home study had left behind.
So why did part of me wish it were true?
I'd told myself I didn't need those things.
That wanting them was weakness. But sitting in that courtroom, listening to my lawyer describe a marriage that wasn't real, I felt the ache of wanting it anyway.
Judge Morrison remained silent. The pen tapped again. And again. A slow, deliberate rhythm that seemed to take over the room. Each hollow sound landed heavier than the last, stretching the seconds until they lost their shape.
The courtroom faded to the edges. The buzz of the lights grew sharper.
My chest tightened, breath shallow and controlled, every muscle locked as if stillness might somehow influence the outcome.
I became acutely aware of everything I couldn’t do—couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t fix what was about to be decided without me.
I kept my eyes forward, afraid that if I looked at Liam, the restraint would crack. Afraid that if I looked anywhere at all, the waiting would turn unbearable. Time didn’t pass. It hovered.
"I am granting a temporary reprieve," her voice echoed through the room.
"Mia Santos will remain with her sister for the next sixty days.
However," she pointed her pen directly at us, “I am ordering that a safety inspection be completed by Friday. I require confirmation that the residence is adequately stocked and that appropriate sleeping arrangements are in place for the minor.”
She leaned forward, her gaze piercing. “I am also granting the department’s request for a thirty-day observation period.
During that time, I expect to see how the three of you function once the initial urgency has subsided.
Should the resulting report indicate that this marriage serves solely as a legal construct, I will order the child’s removal myself. Do you understand, Ms. Santos?”
"Yes, Your Honor." My chest tightened, then loosened just enough to breathe.
She set down her pen with a final thud.
"We'll reconvene in sixty days. Do not make me regret this."
Not a victory. A reprieve.
As we stepped into the hallway, my legs felt heavy, like the curtain had just fallen and I was still standing under the lights. The script wasn’t finished. The audience hadn’t decided if they were convinced.
Forty-eight hours to dress the set. Thirty days to learn the roles well enough to pass for a family.
In the parking lot, I finally let out the breath I'd been holding for three hours.
The sun had come out while we were inside—weak and watery, but still warmer than the gray morning we'd left behind. I stopped beside Liam's truck, tilted my face toward the light, and tried to convince my heart to stop racing.
Liam's hand was still on my back. I'd stopped noticing it in the courtroom, had let it become part of the background like a steady pressure that kept me grounded when everything else was spinning.
But now, standing in the parking lot with the judge's warning echoing in my head, I was suddenly, acutely aware of it. Of him.
"We survived," I said, the words feeling thin. "The marriage… she didn't throw us out."
"For now.” His voice stayed low, grounded. He didn’t move his hand.
“You did good in there, Riley.” A brief pause, like he was choosing restraint over instinct. “Kept your cool when that lawyer started throwing stones. That couldn’t have been easy.”
"It wasn't."
I turned to face him, and for a moment we just stood there, closer than we needed to be. Something passed between us—quiet recognition that we’d just jumped off a cliff together and were still waiting to hit the water.
"Ms. Santos?"
The voice cut clean through the moment.
I stepped back, cold air rushing into the space where Liam had been, and turned to find Sandra Reeves crossing the lot, steps quick and purposeful, file tucked under one arm like she was already moving on to the next case.
“I wanted to catch you before you left.” Her gaze flicked to Liam, unreadable, then returned to me.
“The judge is giving you a narrow window, Riley. Most of the time, she would’ve ordered a neutral placement until the home study cleared.
The only reason she didn’t is your record and your standing at the station. ”
My throat tightened. I nodded once, the words taking effort.
“I know. Thank you for the recommendation.”
Sandra hesitated. Her professional mask slipped, just for a second, revealing something that looked almost like concern.