Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Kate
I’m sitting across from a polished walnut desk, hands clasped so tightly my knuckles ache. Knox’s friend, Matthew Graham, family law out of Roanoke, agreed to take my case and now he sits, studying the stack of documents in front of him, flipping pages with a calm efficiency I wish I felt.
When he looks up, his tone is polite. “Ms. Prescott, I’ve gone through everything you sent over. School records, medical files, financials, the petition itself. Based on what I’m seeing, you have a strong foundation for maintaining primary custody.”
Hope rises in my chest.
“That said, there are challenges we need to prepare for.”
Of course there are.
He adjusts his glasses, pen resting between his fingers. “Daniel presents well on paper. Married. Stable household. Two incomes. His father’s influence won’t go unnoticed by the court. His wife doesn’t have children, so they may argue increased availability and support.”
“Support,” I echo, forcing my voice not to snap. “He sends the minimum every month. He doesn’t know her bedtime routine, or the way she cries after nightmares, or how she lines up her crayons in color order. He doesn’t know anything beyond a number on a check.”
Matthew nods once, expression sympathetic but professional. “I agree. But legal strategy hinges on more than who is the better parent—it hinges on what can be proven. Judges take financial stability and re-engagement efforts seriously, even when that return comes late.”
My stomach knots. “So what does that mean for us?”
“It means,” he says, leaning back slightly, “we center our case on what Evie knows. Her home. Her routines. Her emotional safety. Continuity is your strongest argument. You’ve been her primary caregiver since birth, and you’ve provided a consistent, nurturing environment. That matters.”
He taps the stack of documents gently, no rush, just certainty. “Let me walk you through how these cases normally progress, timeline included, so you know what to expect.”
Normally. As if Daniel resurfacing after years of absence should fall under anything resembling normal.
I clear my throat, voice softer than I intend. “Thank you for making time for this. I know you’re only here because Knox asked.”
His mouth lifts, faint but genuine. “Knox rarely calls in favors. For you, he didn’t hesitate. So we’re going to take this seriously—and we’re going to fight to make sure this ends in Evie’s best interest.”
He folds his hands on the desk. “The court will require mediation. It’s basically a guided conversation with a trained mediator.
You, Daniel, and the mediator sit down in a private room—not a courtroom—and try to work out a parenting plan yourselves.
No witnesses, no judge deciding your fate from a bench.
” He gives a small shrug. “Most cases settle there. It’s calmer, quicker, cheaper, and frankly—better for kids. ”
I nod slowly. “So…we’d talk it out first.”
“Yes,” he says. “That’s the goal. Mediation gives parents the chance to shape the arrangement instead of having a stranger do it for them.”
I sit with that for a moment, anxiety buzzing beneath my ribs. Talking it out with Daniel feels impossible. But at least this sounds…structured and manageable. Not a courtroom battle.
He must see the worry on my face because his voice softens. “This is the least confrontational starting point. We hope to resolve things there.”
I nod, but the words blur around the edges. He goes on about affidavits, character witnesses, possible points to compromise on, but my mind drifts. My leg bounces. I stare down at the faint ink smudge on the corner of the custody petition, the one where Daniel’s name sits in clean, confident print.
He’s married. He’s established. He has a perfect record and a perfectly polished life.
And I’m—well, I’m a librarian with a mortgage, a secondhand car, and a four-year-old who thinks spaghetti can get dizzy. I’m a woman who works hard, who loves harder, but who still lies awake wondering if that’s enough.
The lawyer clears his throat softly. “Ms. Prescott?”
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I’m listening.”
He offers a patient smile. “I know this is overwhelming. We’ll take it one step at a time. I’ll draft the response to the petition and file before the deadline. In the meantime, don’t engage directly with Mr. McMichael. Let me handle communication.”
I nod again, though the motion feels mechanical.
When the meeting ends, he shakes my hand. “You’re doing right by your daughter, Miss Prescott. Don’t forget that.”
I manage a thank you, though my voice comes out thin.
Downtown Roanoke is by no means a sprawling metropolis, but when I walk outside, it feels too bright, the traffic too loud. I sit in the driver’s seat of my car, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror.
The woman looking back at me has tired eyes and a brave smile that doesn’t quite stick. And for the first time since all this started, a thought I’ve tried hard to bury slips through—quiet, cruel, honest.
Maybe Daniel’s not wrong about one thing. Maybe Evie deserves more than a mom who’s constantly patching the holes in the life she’s trying to keep together.
She deserves a male role model in her life, someone strong, someone to be an example of the man she should look for later in life, someone who can take her to the father-daughter dance next spring instead of sitting on the sidelines pretending not to cry.
I grip the steering wheel until my fingers ache.
I’ve never felt ashamed of being a single mom. But right now, shame sits heavy in my chest—an ugly mix of exhaustion and fear. Because for the first time, I wonder if love and effort will be enough.
If I will be enough.
I start the car, blinking fast as the tears blur the view out the windshield.
No matter what happens, I’ll fight for her. Even if I have to fight the part of myself that doubts I can win.