16. Standard Protocol #2
This incarceration was a temporary setback.
Juniper orchestrated a lucky trap, but she could not rewrite biology.
I carried Warren’s baby to term. I delivered a healthy girl before the sentencing judge condemned me to this concrete cage.
The family court system had strict laws protecting maternal bonds, and I intended to exploit every single one of them.
“I’m not sitting back,” I said, tapping my fingernail against the plexiglass. “I want an update on my daughter. Juniper is parading around playing mother, and I want it stopped. Read me the injunction.”
He kept his hands folded over the manila folder. I ignored the chatter of the visitation room, glaring only at the documents on his side of the glass.
“I assume you have the custody appeal forms ready,” I said, keeping my voice authoritative. “I explicitly stated that a temporary guardianship was the only thing I would agree to.”
I waited for him to slide the signature pages through the metal slot.
I planned to dictate a rigorous visitation schedule.
I wanted Juniper subjected to random home inspections just to make her life miserable.
She thought she won, but I would drag her back into court every single month.
I would tie her up in endless litigation until I regained custody of my child.
My attorney did not open the folder. He looked at my face, offering no sympathy.
“Naomi, there is no appeal,” he said. “I am here to deliver the finalized court orders from the family judge.”
I stared at him through the glass, waiting for him to correct himself. I gripped the plastic receiver tighter against my ear. A temporary guardianship required an appeal window. That was the legal strategy we discussed during our last meeting. He was supposed to file the objections yesterday.
“What do you mean there’s no appeal? That child is biologically mine, and I demand to retain my parental rights.”
The attorney refused to argue. He kept his hands folded over the documents, just staring back at me.
The buzzing of the overhead lights filled the tense silence between us.
He finally sighed, reaching into his leather briefcase to pull out a single sheet of paper.
He pushed it through the narrow metal slot beneath the scratched plexiglass window.
The thick paper scraped against the steel tray. “Read the petitioner line, Naomi,” he said through the receiver. “Look at the name.”
I leaned over the metal counter and snatched the paper from the slot. The fluorescent lights glared against the white page, reflecting off the official state seal stamped at the top. I scanned the black ink, struggling to make sense of the endless legal jargon filling the page.
I traced my finger down the page until I found the bolded text at the center of the document. Juniper Davenport. The name sat right next to the designation ‘Legal Adoptive Parent’. A cold rush of nausea hit my stomach.
“This is a mistake,” I whispered into the receiver. “I never signed a surrender form. My name is on the birth certificate. I will pay you triple your retainer to drag her back into court tomorrow morning.”
“Your accounts are drained, Naomi,” he said, shifting his gaze away from the glass. “And Warren Davenport surrendered his parental rights during his sentencing. Juniper agreed to support his plea deal in exchange for his signature.”
“Warren gave her away?”
“He cut a deal to save himself,” the attorney replied. His voice remained flat over the static of the line. “You are the only one left.”
I gripped the edges of the decree until the paper crinkled under my thumbs. Juniper didn’t just put me in this cage. She legally stole my child.
“Your felony conviction triggered an automatic severance,” the attorney continued. “The state determined you are an endangerment to the child. Juniper Davenport’s petition for adoption was finalized this morning.”
I slammed my hands against the metal counter.
The paper crumpled beneath my fists. “She can’t raise my baby!
” I screamed into the plastic receiver. The inmates in the adjacent booths turned to stare at me, but I ignored them.
“She stole my life! You have to fix this; you have to file an injunction!”
“There are no grounds for appeal,” he said. “The adoption is closed and sealed.”
He didn’t flinch at my outburst. He didn’t rush to open his briefcase and draft a new motion to save me.
He just leaned closer to the smudged divider, his voice completely devoid of pity.
“The decision is permanent, Naomi. You have no legal standing, and you will have no further contact with the child.”
The attorney didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed the brass latches on his briefcase, snapping them shut with a sharp click. He reached for the plastic intercom receiver and returned it to the cradle.
The line clicked off in my ear. The flat hiss of the static faded into silence.
He stood up from his chair. He turned his back on me and walked toward the exit. His shoes scuffed against the linoleum as he stepped through the security checkpoint. He didn’t look back.
“Come back here,” I whispered to the empty glass.
No one answered. The other women in the hall continued their hushed conversations, ignoring me. I dropped the crumpled adoption decree onto the steel surface. The stiff paper unfolded slightly, exposing the embossed seal.
I pressed my bare palms flat against the thick plexiglass divider. The material was coated in greasy fingerprints. I looked straight through the smudged window at the empty chair where my attorney just sat.
Juniper was out there right now. She was sleeping in a soft bed. She was spending the money I was supposed to have, walking through the world with the freedom I planned to take from her. And she was raising the only biological child I would ever produce. She took everything from me.
The adrenaline keeping my spine rigid vanished.
I slipped from the plastic chair, collapsing against the cold metal wall of the visitation booth. I hit the linoleum floor. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wept into my hands as the absolute permanence of the judge’s ruling settled over me.