Chapter 45 Heather #2
He leans over and kisses me, gentle and reassuring. “Come on. Let’s go.”
We walk into the courthouse together, and even though he keeps his hand steady on the small of my back, my nervousness ratchets up with every step.
My palms are sweating. My heart is racing.
I keep reaching into my purse to touch the elephant, over and over like it might actually protect me from the confrontation that I know is coming.
“I’m right here,” he says, leaning close enough that only I can hear. “I’m not going anywhere.”
We find the right courtroom, and Grant’s lawyers are already waiting outside. We’ve teleconferenced with them enough that I recognize each of them—Richard, the lead attorney, Jennifer Stahl with her sharp eyes, and Mario Wise, who is already busy reviewing notes on his tablet.
“Ms. Lucas,” Richard says, extending his hand. “Good to see you again. Are you ready?”
“Ready to get this over with and put this day behind me.” I shake his hand, then Jennifer’s and Mario’s. They look sharp and relaxed, but not even a little bit complacent. Grant assured me he was hiring the best of the best, and I believe that’s exactly what he did with this team.
Just one more reason for me to be eternally grateful to this wonderful, kind, caring man.
“We’re going to take good care of you,” Jennifer says. “We’ve reviewed all the documentation you provided, and we feel very confident about this case.”
Mario nods. “The plaintiff’s claim is weak at best. He abandoned his parental rights for nine years. That’s not something a judge takes lightly.”
“He’ll still try to cause trouble and make a scene.” I grimace. “That’s what he does best.”
“He can try, but he won’t get very far.” Richard sounds so confident that I can almost let myself believe him. “Trust us. We know what we’re doing.”
I nod, but there’s still some lingering fear coiling tight in my chest.
“Let’s head inside,” he continues. “We’ll want to get settled before the judge arrives.”
Grant’s hand finds the small of my back again as we walk through the heavy wooden doors into the courtroom. It’s smaller than I expected, and more intimate, which makes it even worse. Once everyone is here, we’ll all just be a few feet away from each other.
We walk to one of the tables in front of the judge’s bench, and that’s when I see Steven.
He’s sitting at the opposite table with his own lawyer, and the sight of him makes everything inside me go cold.
He glances over and our eyes lock. He’s wearing that old, familiar, smug expression that makes me believe he honestly thinks he’s going to win today.
His fake, predatory smile widens and I don’t even realize I’ve stopped moving until Grant quietly clears his throat and pulls out a chair for me.
“Keep moving, Hurricane. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
I nod and take a seat, forcing my eyes to look forward and focus on the judge’s bench—and only the judge’s bench.
But like a moth to a flame, I keep letting my eyes wander over to the opposing table. I can still feel Steven’s eyes on me even though I’m not fully looking at him, and every second that passes makes me feel more vulnerable and nervous.
And then he stands up and walks around the front of his table, making my stomach tie itself into knots until he stops directly in front of me.
“Heather,” he says when I finally look up to meet his gaze again. “I didn’t think you’d actually have the nerve to show up today.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” is the most civil greeting I can manage.
“Not surprising, but I can still tell you’re a nervous wreck. I guess I would be, too, if I was about to be exposed as an unstable, homeless—”
“That’s enough.” Grant is on his feet so fast that I flinch and Steven takes a half-step back. “Go take your seat and keep your mouth shut.”
Suddenly, the table that separates the two men doesn’t seem like much of a barrier. Not when Grant is towering over everyone and looking like he might actually reach out and crush Steven with his bare hands.
“Careful, Heather.” Steven is still smiling, but a few tiny beads of sweat have appeared at his brow as he glances from me to Grant and back again.
“Your new man is in danger of reinforcing everything I’m going to say today.
The instability. The volatility. It’s not a good look for either of you, frankly. ”
“Don’t say another word to her. Don’t even look at her. You were a shitty husband to her, a shitty father to April, and now I see you’re a pathetic excuse for a man on top of all that.”
“Oh, such tough words from the big-shot goalie. You’re over here defending her and paying her bills, and I’m the pathetic one?”
Grant doesn’t say anything this time, but there’s a real surge of fear in Steven’s eyes when the six-foot-seven goalie starts to step around the side of the table.
Fortunately, Steven’s lawyers and all three of ours step in before things can get any uglier, and Steven is escorted back to his seat.
But not before he flashes another condescending look my way.
Grant waits a beat, then sits back down next to me. “As much as I’d personally like to knock every one of his teeth out of his inflated head, I’ll happily settle for watching our lawyers make a fool out of him.”
“Agreed,” I say, reminding myself to keep my head up and my shoulders back. “He isn’t worth the time or effort it would take to kick his ass, anyway. But it sure would be fun to watch.”
The door at the front of the courtroom opens, and a bailiff steps through. “All rise. The Honorable Judge Morrison presiding.”
My heart clenches as everyone stands, and I have to grip the edge of the table to keep my hands from shaking.
Judge Morrison enters—an older woman with reading glasses perched on her nose and gray hair that’s styled into a perfect bob. She takes her seat at the bench and reviews the papers in front of her before looking up at both tables.
“Please be seated,” she says. Her voice is quiet but carries enough authority that it seems to fill the entire room. “We’re here today for a custody petition filed by Mr. Steven Walsh regarding the minor child, April Lucas. Let’s begin.”
The next hour passes in a blur of legal arguments and testimony. Steven’s lawyer goes first, painting a picture of a loving father who wants to reconnect with his daughter after years of being “kept away” by me.
It makes me sick to listen to the constant stream of lies and the reframing of abandonment as victimhood while he points to me as the villain.
But Richard is ready. When it’s his turn to speak, he stands up and methodically dismantles every claim.
“Your Honor, Mr. Walsh hasn’t paid a single dollar in child support in nine years. He’s made no attempts at contact until three weeks ago. He’s not listed on any school records, medical records, or emergency contact forms. He has no established relationship with this child whatsoever.”
Steven’s lawyer tries to argue that I made it impossible for Steven to be involved, that I moved frequently and kept April hidden from him.
Jennifer stands to counter. “Your Honor, Ms. Lucas has lived in three different cities over the past nine years—all due to promotions and advancement opportunities from within the same company. Hardly a sign of instability or poor temperament. But besides that, Mr. Walsh knew her family’s contact information.
He knew her maiden name. He made no effort to find her or her daughter until now. That’s abandonment, not exclusion.”
The judge makes notes and asks relevant questions, but her expression doesn’t give anything away.
Then Steven takes the stand.
He’s smooth and confident at first, just like I knew he would be. He talks about wanting to be a father, about regretting his past mistakes, and about how he’s in a stable position now to provide for April.
But Richard doesn’t let him get comfortable.
“Mr. Walsh, you claim you want to be involved in April’s life now. Can you tell the court your daughter’s birthday?”
Steven blinks, clearly caught off guard. “I… it’s in the spring.”
“That’s not what I asked, but I’ll rephrase the question to be more precise. What is April’s date of birth?”
“April twentieth.”
“It’s April seventh,” Richard says flatly. “What grade is she in?”
“Third grade.”
“Incorrect. What’s her favorite subject?”
Steven’s jaw tightens, and he glances over at his lawyer like he’s silently pleading for an objection. He doesn’t get one. “I don’t know.”
“What allergies does she have?”
Another look to his lawyer, who at least offers a token objection this time. But the judge shoots it down and tells Steven to answer the question.
“I don’t know.”
“What’s her pediatrician’s name? Her teacher’s name? The name of a single friend she has?” Richard doesn’t give him time to answer. “You don’t know any of these things because you haven’t been a father to this child. You’ve been absent. By choice.”
Steven’s composure cracks. “I was young. I made mistakes. But I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m trying to make things right.”
“By showing up at her school uninvited and frightening her mother?” Richard pulls out a police report. “By grabbing Ms. Lucas hard enough to leave bruises?”
“That was a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding that required police intervention,” Richard says.
“Your Honor, this isn’t about a father wanting to reconnect with his child.
This is about control. Mr. Walsh is using the legal system to harass and intimidate Ms. Lucas, just as he physically harassed and intimidated her during their relationship. ”
Steven’s lawyer objects again, but the damage is done. I can see it in the judge’s expression.
The hearing continues. Mario presents documentation of my stability—my employment, my housing situation with Grant, and April’s school records showing excellent attendance and grades.
Jennifer presents character statements from April’s teacher, from Margo, and even from some of Grant’s teammates who have spent time with us.