Allie
One would think with Lydia being only three, that I’d still remember what early pregnancy feels like. And for the most part, I do. But the thing I somehow forgot about?
The cramps.
Not the scary kind, thankfully. Just the normal, first-trimester kind.
And since I decided to go with family medicine, my knowledge on obstetrics is pretty limited, but I’d place myself right around seven weeks.
So the burning, pulling sensation that catches me off guard every time I reach too fast or toss my hair into a bun? Completely normal.
I just have to remind myself: I’m growing an entire person and my body’s already working overtime.
And today? So is my mind.
Because today is our last day in court. And my brain doesn’t have the space for the emotional spiral it keeps threatening to fall into.
But I know I’ve got this. There’s no one more capable of raising those two girls than the one who’s been doing it since they were born.
No one else knows them the way I do. I mean, Trevor likes to act like he does, like he’s just as in tune with them as I am.
But the truth is? He’s not.
He doesn’t know Charlotte refuses to eat crunchy peanut butter because of the texture. Or that Lydia can’t wear the off-brand training pants without breaking out in a rash. He doesn’t know those things, because he never paid attention, at least not until Marissa showed up.
And yeah, I’m glad he finally wants to step up. That he wants to be a father, a real one. The kind they deserve. But showing up now doesn’t mean you get to erase everything that came before. It doesn’t mean you take them away from the one person who’s carried them through all of their firsts.
Their first nightmare. The first time they were sick. The person who cheered them on the first time they took more than two steps without crashing onto the floor.
You don’t show love by ripping them away from other people’s love.
Which is another reason why I haven’t told them about the baby yet.
I’m terrified, absolutely terrified, that something’s going to go wrong. That somehow, Trevor’s going to win, and they’ll think Jax and I are trying to replace them. And nothing—nothing—in this world could ever do that.
But how do you even explain that to a five-year-old and a three-year-old? That your heart doesn’t divide when you introduce, it expands. That’s a little hard to teach when their father is making it nearly impossible, trying to prove the dividing part of that scenario.
Jax’s hand suddenly lands on my knee, making the bouncing stop instantly. I didn’t even know I was doing that.
I look up and give him a small, hopefully genuine smile. “Sorry,” I murmur, leaning into him on the wooden bench. “I’m just extra nervous today.”
He tilts his head, sliding an arm around my shoulders. “I know you are. But you have no reason to be. We’re all here for you.”
I glance around the room, letting my gaze pause on every face sitting here—every person who showed up for me.
Trevor has himself and Marissa.
I have an entire village.
And that’s saying a lot more than I ever thought it would.
All these people dropped what they were doing today to protect my daughters and me.
Even my boss, Ashley. I know for a fact she postponed meetings just to be here and speak on my behalf—even though I haven’t taken many shifts these past few months. Still, she showed up.
A door opens to my right, and a short woman with glasses perched low on her nose steps out.
“Monroe v. Windsor,” she calls, scanning the room.
She clearly wasn’t expecting this many people. Her eyes widen slightly, and she flinches at the sudden scuff of feet on tile and the hush of conversations bouncing off the walls.
I follow the others into the courtroom and head straight for my little designated spot—the same table as last time.
And to think just last week I thought it was silly we even needed a room this size for such a small matter. But now? Turning around and seeing all ten faces behind me, I’m grateful for this much space.
Suddenly everything feels like someone hit fast-forward. The judge walks in, the bailiff relieves us with a loud, “You may be seated,” and then it’s all happening at once. So fast, it barely registers until I hear my mother’s name being called and I watch her take the stand.
I clasp my hands together, blowing out a slow breath through pursed lips.
When I glance up, I don’t even need to catch her eye to know she’s giving me that look—the worried mom look I’ve seen my entire life.
The one I inherited.
I’ve always called her the Queen of Faces since she never needed words. Not when she has either a raised brow, a tilted head, or a creased forehead. And if I was really lucky? I got all three. But I always knew what she was thinking.
And right now? She’s worried.
I offer her a quick, small smile, hoping my own face can read that I’ll be okay.
Trevor stands, looking every bit as nervous as he should be. His blond hair sticks up in every direction from how many times he’s already run his hand through it.
He holds a piece of paper under his nose, then lowers it and leans against his table. “Mrs. Windsor—”
“Carol,” my mother interrupts firmly, but she makes sure to do it with a bright smile spread across her face.
He falters, like he suddenly forgot what he was about to say. Though really, he should know better than to call my mother by her maiden name. She’s never been one for formalities—especially not with someone she once bought underwear for at Christmas.
His eyes flick between the judge and my mother before he finally pushes off the table and steps directly in front of her, arms crossed. “Could you please state who you are for the record?” he says.
I roll my eyes so hard it actually makes my head hurt. It’s like he binge-watched every episode of Law & Order before court today just to sound official. Instead, it just makes him sound ridiculous.
My mother lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Carol Windsor. I’m Allison’s mother.”
“Carol, is it true that you watched over the girls while Allison went on trips to Boston and New York City?” he asks, now pacing the carpeted floor. I imagine him tripping and am almost ashamed at how much I have to bite back a grin.
Almost.
My mother frowns, tilting her head before answering, “Is it true you picked up the girls for both of those weekends?”
If this were a cartoon, smoke would be pouring from Trevor’s heels at how fast he stops pacing. He spins until he’s facing my mom again and clasps his hands behind his back.
“Answer the question, Mrs. Windsor,” the judge states firmly.
I swallow hard, not liking the tone the judge already has this morning. And it’s only just begun.
My mother lets out a short sigh before nodding. “Yes. That’s true.”
Trevor begins pacing again. “So, you’d agree that Allison left the girls in your care not once, but twice, so she could go off and party. Both times within a month of each other, where she was gone for nearly four days each?”
My mother raises an eyebrow—the eyebrow. Her code for stop while you’re ahead.
Instead, she turns to the judge, and my heart leaps into my throat.
“Your Honor,” she says, “since when is it wrong for a mother to take time for herself—especially when her children are safe and cared for?”
Judge Steinbeck’s eyes snap to Trevor’s over the rim of her thin glasses. “Mr. Monroe, is this line of questioning going anywhere? Mrs. Windsor—”
“Carol,” my mother corrects gently.
I can’t help but physically cringe.
The judge blinks, then gives a short nod. “Carol makes a fair point. If the children were safe and properly cared for while their mother was away, then how she spent that time is not my concern—and it definitely shouldn’t be yours either.”
“I’m trying to make a point that it’s very clear that Allison cares more about making appearances with her boyfriend than tucking her daughters in at night—”
Before the sharp sting in my throat becomes too much, I hear the sharp crack of the gavel slamming on the desk.
“Mr. Monroe, I understand and sympathize that you want what’s best for your daughters. I really do.” She suddenly turns toward my mother again. “Carol, let me ask you something. Are those two girls in distress when your daughter leaves?”
She shakes her head. “Of course not. Allie wouldn’t leave if they were.”
“And have they ever been sick during those times?”
“Nope. Never.”
Judge Steinbeck turns fully in her chair, facing my mother directly. “One last thing, Mrs. Windsor—I’m sorry, Carol—before I dismiss you. Does Allison make a habit of going out like this?”
My mother lets out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, and then tilts her head.
“Your Honor, I had to force Allie to go.” She pauses, and even from here, I see the tears brimming in her eyes.
“When they decided the girls would stay with Trevor for the summer, she cried for weeks. Weeks. Her friends and I practically begged her to take that trip. To breathe. To reset. She didn’t want to leave them—not for one second.
And then she comes back… to this?” She pauses to glance briefly toward Trevor, then shakes her head slowly.
“It isn’t right, Your Honor. It’s not fair. Allie’s a good mom. A damn good one.”
Judge Steinbeck nods once. “Thank you, Carol. You may step down.”
My mothers eyes find mine as she walks by, offering me a smile that makes me feel weightless, like everything’s going to be okay.
Unfortunately, the feeling is short-lived.
Another wave of cramps settles low in my belly like a bowling ball. I press a hand to my stomach, unable to hide the wince as the burning stretches across like a rubber band being pulled too tight.
“Next witness I’d like to call is Allison’s boss, Ashley O’Brien,” Trevor says, sounding way too pleased with himself. Even though it’s been made obvious with him questioning my mother that all of this is for nothing.