Chapter 10 Riley #2
We worked in silence, carrying my belongings back down the hallway to the guest room.
It should have felt like a relief, restoring the boundaries we’d carefully maintained.
Instead, each item I removed from his space felt like a small loss.
The lavender oil from his nightstand. My robe from the back of his door.
The book I’d left on what would have been my side of the bed.
“There.” I set the last of it down on the guest room dresser, a little too carefully. “Back to normal.”
Liam leaned against the doorframe, watching me. Something flickered in his expression, there and gone before I could pin it down.
“Right.” A pause. “Normal.”
Neither of us moved for a moment. Then he pushed off from the frame and headed back down the hallway.
“I’ll start dinner,” he called over his shoulder.
I stood alone in the guest room, surrounded by my things, and wondered when normal had started to feel like a loss.
The second custody hearing arrived a month later—faster than I’d expected, slower than I’d feared.
Another gray morning, the sky low and colorless. Another borrowed blazer pulled on like armor, the fabric stiff against my shoulders. Another drive to the courthouse with Liam in the passenger seat, the road stretching ahead of us in quiet familiarity.
I watched the scenery slide past the window without really registering it, my mind looping through the same familiar corridors it always found before a hearing. The what-ifs. The thin, hard-won progress. How easily it could all be stripped away with the wrong word, the wrong look.
Dread settled low in my stomach, dense and unmoving. A weight I’d learned to live with. To ignore. To carry without complaint.
Todd was already there when we arrived. Same cheap suit, pressed just enough to pass.
Same practiced smile, calibrated for witnesses.
When his eyes found mine across the hallway, the smile didn’t falter—but something behind it sharpened, cold and deliberate.
He didn’t come closer this time. Just watched.
Somehow, that was worse.
Judge Morrison took her seat. The room shifted with her presence, everyone straightening without meaning to. Sandra Reeves stepped forward and began reading the updated report; Judith Crane’s findings folded neatly into her neutral cadence.
I stilled completely, breath caught somewhere between inhale and panic, as the summary began.
“The court-appointed evaluator found the home environment to be stable, clean, and appropriate for a child. Ms. Crane noted that Mia Santos appears to be adjusting well, with improved engagement at school and a positive relationship with both her sister and Mr. Murphy.”
Sandra’s voice stayed even as her eyes moved across the page. The words landed one by one, careful and measured.
She looked up from her notes.
“The evaluator’s recommendation is continued placement with the petitioner.”
My fingers loosened in my lap without my permission. A breath slipped free—small, shaky, barely enough to count as relief, but it was something.
It didn’t last.
A chair scraped back. Shoes crossed the floor. Todd’s lawyer rose with deliberate calm, smoothing his jacket like this was all part of the plan.
“Your Honor, we continue to have serious concerns about the legitimacy of this marriage.” Mr. Hendricks’s voice slid easily through the room, smooth and practiced.
“Our investigation has revealed that Ms. Santos and Mr. Murphy had no romantic relationship prior to their sudden engagement. No dates. No public outings as a couple.” He paused, letting the absence hang there.
“Nothing to suggest this is anything other than a calculated arrangement designed to manipulate these proceedings.”
My jaw locked. I kept my gaze forward, afraid that if I looked at him, I’d give something away. Beside me, Liam’s posture shifted—subtle, but I felt it. A tightening. A readiness.
“Furthermore,” Hendricks continued, unbothered, “the timeline remains highly suspicious. Three days from proposal to courthouse. No engagement period. No ceremony beyond a brief legal proceeding. This has all the hallmarks of a marriage of convenience, and we believe the court should treat it as such.”
The room felt smaller. Hotter. Like the walls had leaned in to listen.
Diana rose before I could spiral any further. Calm. Centered. Her presence alone slowed something in my chest.
“Your Honor, opposing counsel continues to make allegations without evidence.” Her voice didn’t rise; it didn’t need to.
“Ms. Crane spent an entire day in that home. She spoke with both adults and the child separately and found nothing to support these claims.” A brief glance at her notes.
“Her report explicitly states that the household dynamic appeared genuine, and that Mia expressed feeling safe and cared for.”
Judge Morrison lifted one hand.
The room went still.
She studied her notes for a long moment, pen tapping softly against the bench. Once. Twice. Each tap landed somewhere in my ribs.
“I’ve reviewed Ms. Crane’s report thoroughly.”
My breath stalled.
“And I find her observations compelling.” She looked up now, eyes sharp and assessing. “The home environment is stable. The child is thriving. Whatever concerns I initially had about the speed of this marriage, I’m seeing evidence that this household is functioning in Mia’s best interest.”
My heart lurched—hard enough that I had to press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stay steady.
“However.”
The word dropped into the room like a weight.
“I’m not prepared to make a final determination today.” Her pen stilled beneath her fingers. “I want to see continued progress. I want to know this isn’t a performance that unravels once the court stops watching.”
She set the pen down.
“Custody remains with Ms. Santos. We will reconvene in sixty days for a final review.” Her gaze moved—me, then Todd. Me again. “If stability continues, I will be prepared to make this arrangement permanent.”
Silence.
“Court is adjourned.”
Not a victory.
Not yet.
But closer than we’d ever been.
I stood on legs that didn’t quite feel like mine, the room tilting just enough to make me reach for the table. Liam’s hand found mine beneath it, steady and grounding, like he’d known exactly when I’d need it.
Across the courtroom, Todd’s smirk was gone.
His lawyer leaned in, murmuring urgently, but Todd didn’t react. He just stared at me—eyes dark, unfocused, burning with something raw and unstable.
Desperation.
And for the first time, it scared me more than confidence ever had.
Men like him don’t stop just because a judge tells them to. They escalate.
Something Sandra had said once—quietly, almost in passing—rose to the surface as we walked out of the courtroom. Not a warning delivered with drama. Just a fact, stated like policy.
Todd was losing.
And that made him more dangerous than ever.
Dinner was the best we’d had since I moved in.
We’d picked up Chinese on the way home from the courthouse, too drained to cook, and somehow that made it better.
No pressure to perform. Just white cartons spread across the kitchen table, Mia stealing Liam’s egg rolls, the three of us eating straight from the containers like we’d been doing this forever.
“And then Honey just walked right up to me,” she was saying, gesturing with her chopsticks, lo mein forgotten. “Like she’d been waiting. Liam says that means she’s starting to trust me for real, not just because I have apples.”
“Trust is trust,” Liam nudged the container of rolls toward me with his elbow, casual, like it was obvious. “Doesn’t matter how it starts.”
“But it’s better when it’s not just about food, right? Like, she actually wants to see me now. She made that sound—what did you call it?”
“Nicker.”
“Right. She nickered when I came to the fence. Before I even had treats.” Mia’s face was bright, animated—so different from the closed-off girl who’d arrived two months ago. “That means something, doesn’t it?”
Liam caught my eye across the table, and something warm passed between us.
Look at her. Look what’s happening.
I let myself sink into it. The warmth of the kitchen, the smell of soy sauce and ginger, Mia’s voice filling spaces that had been silent for so long.
For an hour—maybe two—I forgot about the hearing.
Forgot about Todd’s lawyer and his accusations, the home visit looming ahead, the fragile architecture of everything we’d built.
I just sat there, eating lo mein from the carton, watching my sister come back to life.
It felt dangerous to forget. Like standing too close to the edge of something.
But I let myself have it anyway. One evening of pretending this was just my life now.
Dinners with the people who felt like family.
A kid who was learning to trust. A man who looked at me like I might be something worth keeping.
When Mia went to bed—still talking about Honey—I helped Liam clean up. We moved around each other in the small kitchen, tossing empty cartons, wiping down the table, not talking much. The comfortable silence of people who didn’t need to fill every space with words.
“She’s doing better,” he said, passing me a plate to dry, watching it for a second longer than necessary. “Really better.”
“Yeah.” My throat tightened. “She is.”
He didn’t say because of you or because of this place or any of the things that would have made me bolt. He just handed me another plate. We finished the dishes in silence, and I went to bed feeling something I barely recognized.
Hope, maybe.
Or the beginning of it.
The phone rang at 2 AM, pulling me out of a fitful sleep.
The darkness pressed in around me, familiar and suffocating.
The phone buzzed again. Unknown number.
I didn’t answer. Let it go to voicemail. Told myself that was control.
But when the notification lit up the screen, my thumb moved before I could stop it.