Chapter 24 #3
David called Rosie, and Janie’s breath caught. As a former medical professional, Rosie’s words held even more weight.
“Janie is one of the strongest, most compassionate people I’ve ever met. When I was going through a hard time with a family crisis, Janie was there. She cared, and she’s helping me resolve everything.”
“Ms. Morgan, you have a background in psychology, correct?” David asked.
“Yes. I was a therapist for over a decade before recently transitioning to marketing.”
“And in your professional opinion, does postpartum depression make someone an unfit parent?”
“Absolutely not,” Rosie said, her eyes flaring angrily.
“Postpartum depression is a medical condition affecting up to twenty percent of new mothers. What makes someone unfit is refusing to acknowledge it or get help. Janie recognized she was struggling and took action. She sought therapy, took medication, and continued to communicate honestly with her wife. That’s exactly what a responsible parent does. ”
Bradford’s cross-examination was aggressive, trying to get Rosie to admit that Janie’s departure from the home was abandonment, and that the depression made her unreliable. But Rosie held her ground, her therapist training evident in how she calmly redirected every attack.
Lori’s testimony about observing Hannah with her children and seeing nothing but love and competence was brief but impactful, and Bradford’s cross of Rae Trent was almost desperate, as if she’d realized she might be on the losing side for once.
“I’d like to hear from the parents directly,” Judge Morrison said. “Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Rogers, please stand.”
Janie’s legs were like water as she stood. As if sensing it, Hannah grasped her hand.
“Mrs. Evans,” Judge Morrison said, her voice neutral, “tell me about the ER incident.”
Janie swallowed hard. “I was exhausted. I’d been up most of the previous night with Luna, who had an ear infection.
The next day, I fell asleep on the couch while the girls were playing.
I woke up when I heard Tia crying. Chloe had gotten into the bathroom cabinet and had a bottle of children’s Tylenol.
I immediately called 911, took her to the ER, and stayed with her until the doctor confirmed she was fine. ”
Judge Morrison tilted her head. “And why didn’t you tell any of this to your mother?”
“Because my mother and I have a difficult relationship, and it never occurred to me to tell her anything. It isn’t as though she’s been involved in the girls’ lives since they’ve been born, though she’s been critical of my parenting choices.
I didn’t want to give her more ammunition to use against me.
” Janie sighed deeply and shook her head.
“I realize that sounds like I was hiding something, but at the time, I was just trying to protect myself from her judgment.”
The judge pressed her lips together tightly and nodded, but there was still no clear emotion in her expression. “And the separation from your home and wife?”
“I was drowning. The postpartum depression had gotten so bad that I couldn’t see straight anymore.
I was so confused…about everything.” Janie thought about how she’d mistaken her need for friendship as attraction with Austin and rubbed hard at her forehead.
“I was failing my daughters and my wife. I thought leaving would somehow protect them from me.” Tears edged out of her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.
“It was the wrong choice. I should’ve stayed and gotten help.
But I’m getting help now. I’m on medication, I’m in therapy, and I’m working on my marriage.
I love my daughters more than anything in this world, Your Honor.
The thought of losing them—” Her voice cracked, and she couldn’t finish.
Hannah tightened her grip on Janie’s hand.
Judge Morrison turned to Hannah. “Mrs. Rogers, your mother-in-law’s lawyer has painted a picture of an overwhelmed single parent barely holding things together, including having a problem with alcohol. How do you respond to that?”
“I was overwhelmed.” Hannah shrugged. “But I don’t have an issue with alcohol.
Triplets are hard. Triplets when your wife is struggling with postpartum depression and you’re trying to run a business and be everything to everyone is really hard.
But I wasn’t alone for long. My dad came through for me, and I have my crew from the garage, who helped in so many ways.
And most importantly, I have my wife again.
” She lifted Janie’s hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles.
“She’s not just the mother of my children.
She’s my partner, my wife, my person. We’re stronger together than apart, and we’re figuring out how to be better for each other and for our girls. ”
Judge Morrison glanced across at Janie’s mother before returning her gaze to Janie and Hannah. “What would temporary custody with the grandmother mean for your family?”
Hannah’s jaw tightened. “It would destroy us. My daughters don’t have a relationship with their grandmother; she’s seen them maybe three times since they were born.
They don’t know her. Being taken from their home, from us, from everything familiar would traumatize them.
And it would devastate Janie and me. We’re not perfect parents, but we love those girls with everything we have.
” She tugged on her ear and cleared her throat. “Please don’t take them away from us.”
Judge Morrison nodded. “You may sit,” she said. “I need some time to review these documents. Court is adjourned, and we’ll reconvene in an hour.”
Everyone stood for her to leave, and the courtroom fell silent except for the rustle of papers from her mother’s lawyer.
In her peripheral vision, Janie saw her mother and Bradford gather their things to leave, but Janie kept her gaze fixed forward.
She could practically feel the burn of her mother’s glare, but she didn’t succumb to the temptation of meeting her eyes.
She didn’t trust herself not to say something that her mother would use against her.
“Do you want to get some air?” Hannah asked.
Janie shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere. Maybe the judge won’t be that long.”
David swiveled his chair to look at her. “I can wait here and call you back. Perhaps you should get a drink?”
“No,” Janie said, more firmly this time. She shouldn’t have to justify her desire to stay to her own lawyer. She gestured to the jug of water and glasses on their table. “That’ll be fine if I need it.”
“Okay.” David held up his hands. “Okay. Then we all wait.”
Janie sat back in her chair and closed her eyes.
She imagined a circle of three colors, orange, purple, and green to represent their girls, and outlined in red to represent Hannah’s protection, and then she concentrated on her breathing.
Little splotches of black crept in at the edges of her vision as her thoughts wandered to her mother.
She acknowledged them before quickly pushing them out of the picture to refocus on the bright globe.
She felt Hannah’s steady presence beside her, not demanding attention or conversation, but just there.
This was her family unit, and she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—lose it.
The time slipped past in a haze of steadily counted breaths and deliberate dismissals of the dark presence of her mother. The court officer announcing the judge’s return drew Janie back into the room, and she opened her eyes slowly. Her mother and her lawyer were also back.
Janie yawned and quickly covered her mouth.
She hadn’t slept much last night, not because of the babies for once, but because every time she closed her eyes, she saw the word unfit printed somewhere official, somewhere permanent.
She kept her hands folded tightly in her lap, fingers pressed together as though they might drift apart if she didn’t keep them contained.
Hannah’s knee was warm against hers, solid and present. Janie leaned into it without meaning to.
Judge Morrison adjusted her glasses and looked down at the file, then up again. “This matter was brought to the court as an emergency.”
The final word landed in Janie’s chest, familiar and wrong. Everything had been an emergency once. Every feeding, every cry, every spiraling thought at three in the morning. Now she was learning that panic didn’t make something true.
“Emergency relief is reserved for situations involving immediate danger to children,” the judge said. “I have heard no such evidence today.”
Janie swallowed hard and pressed her nails deeper into her palms.
“Your Honor,” Bradford said quickly, “we also raised concerns regarding the mother’s postpartum depression—”
Janie’s heart lurched. Hannah’s hand closed around hers, tight enough to hurt, as though anchoring her to the moment where she was still allowed to be a mother.
“A condition which is being treated and managed,” Judge Morrison said. “One which has been verified by a licensed psychiatrist.”
Janie blinked.
“Postpartum depression is not parental unfitness. It is not neglect. And it is not an emergency.” Judge Morrison punctuated her sentences with finger stabs to her desk.
“What concerns this court is that mental health was raised here not as a matter of care or safety, but as a litigation strategy, exploited in an extremely callous manner.”
Janie stared at the wood grain of the table blankly, vindicated but exposed at the same time, like the judge was protecting her but only because she couldn’t do it for herself.
David stood. “Your Honor, at this time we move to dismiss the petition in its entirety for lack of standing and failure to state a claim.”
Janie’s breath snagged, and Hannah pressed her leg harder against Janie’s.
“Granted,” Judge Morrison said.
Just like that. The word echoed in Janie’s head, searching for understanding. Could it actually be over?
“Under Illinois law,” Judge Morrison continued, “a non-parent seeking custody must establish standing by clear and convincing evidence of parental unfitness or extraordinary circumstances. The petitioner has done neither. Both parents are present and are fit. And I believe the children are safe.”
The judge’s statement wrapped around Janie like a blanket, and she warmed in its comfort. In a court of law, she was being pronounced fit and safe.
“Furthermore, there is no evidence of abuse, neglect, abandonment, or incapacity.”
“Your Honor,” Bradford said, “we would request that the full custody hearing—”
“There will be no full custody hearing,” Judge Morrison said, sounding more and more irritated with the lawyer. “The petition is dismissed with prejudice.”
The room tilted. Janie exhaled, the sound torn from somewhere deep and fragile. She pressed her forehead to Hannah’s shoulder, just long enough to remind herself that this was real, and it wasn’t a beautiful dream where she and Hannah won, and her mother failed.
“Let me be clear for the record.”
Janie looked up, her heart jumping into her mouth. Was there a but?
“This action was brought under the guise of concern.” Judge Morrison adjusted her glasses. “But the evidence establishes an improper purpose. Filing an emergency petition without factual basis is a serious abuse of this court’s process. Mental health stigma has no place in custody litigation.”
Tears gathered behind Janie’s eyes, uninvited once more, but she didn’t fight them.
“The court further orders that the petitioner is barred from filing any future custody or visitation actions regarding these children without prior leave of court.”
A soft sound rippled through the gallery. It wasn’t applause, not quite, but Janie could almost feel the desire of her gathered friends to shout out in celebration.
The judge looked directly at Janie’s mother. “These children are not leverage. They are not assets. And they are not a trust instrument.” She brought down her gavel. “Court is adjourned,” she said and swept out of the courtroom.
For a moment, Janie stayed where she was, her fingers laced with Hannah’s, breathing in and out like she’d been taught. Behind them, their family buzzed quietly. They were the people who’d believed in them when they could barely believe in themselves, and Janie would never forget that.
She was still shaking when Hannah leaned close. “See? We’re good parents. The judge said it.”
Janie’s breath hitched. She wanted to believe it. God, she wanted to believe it. She looked down at their intertwined fingers, then up at Hannah, who’d stood by her through all of this. “I was so scared,” she whispered.
“I know.” Hannah’s thumb traced circles against her palm. “But you’re still here. Our babies are still ours. We’re going to be okay.”
The weight began to lift from Janie’s chest. Not all of it, and maybe it never would, but enough to breathe. Enough to hope. “I love you,” she said.
Hannah’s eyes shimmered. “I love you too.”
Around them, the courtroom was emptying.
David and their friends were standing, probably waiting to embrace them.
But for just this moment, it was only the two of them.
They’d built their perfect little family, and they’d survived the darkness of the past few months.
They’d fought her mother, and they’d won.
Janie was battling with herself and maybe she could say she was winning sometimes too.
She rose, her legs unsteady, and Hannah pulled her close. Over Hannah’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of her mother’s rigid back as she left, with Bradford trailing behind her. There was no satisfaction or triumph in that, only a quiet, exhausted relief.
“Come on,” Hannah murmured against her hair. “Let’s go home to our babies.”
Home. To the chaos, and the sleepless nights, and the tiny hands that reached for her. The life they’d made together, messy and imperfect, was hers again.