Chapter 55
Chapter fifty-five
Kate
The Cedar Falls courthouse isn’t much to look at—a big, old brick building on Main Street—but today it feels larger than life.
Every seat in the gallery is taken. I spot half the town behind us—a score of teachers from the elementary school, even the mailman who always gives her stickers.
It’s as if the entire population of Cedar Falls paused their lives to show up.
And in the very front row, forming a small but sturdy wall of support, sit Brynn, Knox, and Kinsey. Brynn gives me a thumbs-up. Kinsey mouths breathe. Knox nods once with reassuring eyes. Behind them are Ty and Levi, trying to catch my eye with encouraging fist pumps.
Cam squeezes my hand before the bailiff calls the court to order. His thumb traces small circles on my skin, grounding me. “Eyes on me, Katie,” he whispers. “You’re ready.”
I nod, even though my stomach feels like it’s tied in knots.
When the judge enters, everyone rises. His gavel cracks once, sharp enough to make me flinch.
Daniel’s attorney stands like he’s preparing to deliver a sermon instead of dismantling my entire life. His voice is smooth, confident, and practiced.
He talks about stability and two-parent households, painting Daniel as a pillar of consistency.
He phrases Daniel’s financial contributions generously and wraps his absence in elegant excuses.
He glances my way as he mentions my “rapid life changes,” lingering just long enough to make me feel uncomfortable.
By the time he sits down, I feel the nerves kick in.
Then it’s our turn.
My lawyer gives an opening statement before turning to me. “Your Honor, we’d like to call Ms. Kate Prescott to the stand.”
The wooden chair creaks when I sit down, steadying myself for the questions. My hands are shaky, but my voice holds.
I answer questions about my home, my job, my routines with Evie. We talk about school enrollment. I tell them how she knows every page of Goodnight Moon, how she feeds Mrs. Dalton’s cat, how she dances around the kitchen when we bake banana muffins. We bring up T-ball and enrollment in pre-k.
Then Daniel’s attorney stands.
He picks at timelines. At my marriage. At the “convenience” of having a courthouse wedding right before a custody hearing. He mentions rumors about the authenticity of my relationship with Cam.
Mr. Graham objects; the judge sustains. Still, the suggestion lingers like a stain.
By the time I’m excused, my legs tremble. Cam squeezes my hand the second I sit down.
Then Daniel takes the stand. He wears sincerity like a well-tailored suit. He talks about regret, about wanting to step up, about family values and offering Evie “every stability a child deserves.”
My stomach twists. When he’s excused, I feel small. Stripped thin.
But then my lawyer stands again.
“Your Honor, the plaintiff would like to call Mrs. Brynn Dalton to the stand.”
Brynn gives me a big smile as she rises and walks toward the stand. She settles into the witness chair with calm certainty.
“Mrs. Dalton,” Mr. Graham begins, “how long have you known Ms. Prescott?”
“Since the first grade, we were in the same class together.”
Mr. Graham nods. “And how would you describe her parenting?”
Brynn’s eyes warm. “Kate is amazing. She’s gentle and gives Evie the space to be her own person. She shows up for Evie in every way you could imagine. She’s patient, involved, kind…and she never puts her daughter second. Ever.”
“Anything else, Mrs. Dalton?” Mr. Graham prompts.
“Yes.” She glances at Cam, then back to me. “Watching Cam with Evie has been great. Kate has slowly integrated him into her life and the way he cares for that little girl is genuine. Kate has given Evie everything and now with Cam in their lives, it’s been wonderful to witness.”
“No further questions.”
Daniel’s lawyer rises. “Mrs. Dalton, do you think Ms. Prescott can be…emotional? Impulsive?”
Brynn doesn’t blink. “She’s a parent. Parents feel things deeply. That’s not impulsive—that’s love. And she channels that love into structure, not rash choices.”
Daniel’s lawyer takes a step toward the stand. “Would you say that marrying a boyfriend of just a few months and moving them into your home with your four-year-old daughter is a sound ‘structure’ choice?”
Mr. Graham shoots out of his chair. “Objection, Your Honor, calls for a conclusion.”
“Sustained. The witness is not qualified to make that determination. Counsel, rephrase.”
Daniel’s lawyer turns to walk back to his chair, glancing at me as he says, “No further questions, Your Honor.”
When Brynn steps down, she gives me a small, victorious nod that settles something trembling inside me.
“Your Honor,” my lawyer continues, “we call Mrs. Margaret Prescott.”
My mother stands slowly. She hates public speaking—I can tell by the way she adjusts her blouse twice before walking to the stand—but she loves me and Evie more than she fears anything.
“Mrs. Prescott,” Mr. Graham begins gently, “how involved have you been in your granddaughter’s life?”
“Oh,” she says, exhaling. “Very. I keep her during the day, do pickups and drop-offs, handle the school forms…I’ve been there since the beginning.”
“And how would you describe your daughter as a parent?”
My mother’s eyes soften, brim slightly. “She’s everything you’d hope for. She rebuilt her little family when things fell apart. She gave Evie routines and joy and books…so many books.” She smiles faintly. “Her love is the kind you don’t question. You just see it.”
Mr. Graham continues, “Is Ms. Prescott overly protective?”
“No,” my mother says firmly. “She learned to be careful when she had no partner to rely on. That’s not overprotective. That’s resilience.”
“And Mr. Wells? Do you approve of him living in the home?”
“I do,” she says without hesitation. “He treats Evie with gentleness and respect. And he gives my daughter something she hasn’t had in a long time—support and love.”
Her voice breaks on the last word, but she steadies it quickly.
“No further questions.”
Daniel’s lawyer asks questions, pressing financial issues and other cheap shots. My mom stays calm and answers the questions with ease before she’s told she can return to her seat. Her eyes shine as she passes.
My lawyer turns toward the bench.
“Your Honor, with permission, the plaintiff has one additional witness to call.”
I freeze because we had worked through our list. He smiles faintly.
“Mrs. Haddie Carmichael.”
The courtroom stirs.
And then Haddie stands—floral blazer, enormous hat, and all—and strides forward like she’s walking onto a parade float.
The judge sighs, already bracing.