Chapter 142
Ellie POV
The courthouse rises in front of us like a fortress.
Cold stone.
Tall steps.
Heavy doors.
A place that’s supposed to represent justice, yet somehow feels more like a prison before I’ve even walked inside.
Which would be less of a problem if I wasn’t currently sitting in a wheelchair.
And if there was, you know, an actual ramp.
Sarah stands behind me, staring up at the endless staircase with disbelief. Her hands land on her hips.
“I cannot believe there’s no ramp.”
She looks genuinely offended.
“Does our government just hate disabled people?”
I let out a tired sigh.
“Probably.”
Then I grip the wheels of my chair.
“Just get the chair, please.”
“Ellie.”
Her voice tightens.
“Maybe we should come back another day.”
I look up at the courthouse doors.
“No.”
My voice comes out softer than I expect.
“My mom is in there.”
I swallow.
“I need to know she’s okay.”
Sarah’s expression shifts.
She knows there’s no arguing with me.
“Okay.”
She folds the wheelchair carefully.
“But slow. We go slow.”
I push myself up, grabbing the railing.
“I don’t have time for slow.”
The moment I stand, pain shoots through my body.
My vision blurs.
My stomach twists violently.
But I force myself forward.
Because my mother is inside.
And whatever is happening, she shouldn’t be facing it alone.
Sarah stays close, ready to catch me if I fall.
By the time we reach the top, my legs feel like they’re barely mine.
She unfolds the wheelchair immediately, and I collapse back into it with a shaky breath.
“Still think this was a good idea?” she mutters.
“No.”
I grip the armrests.
“But I’m doing it anyway.”
We push through the courthouse doors.
The sound echoes through the massive entrance hall.
People turn.
I barely notice.
The polished wood.
The golden details.
The endless rows of desks.
None of it matters.
I’m searching.
Searching for my mom.
A clerk.
A guard.
Anyone who can tell me where she is.
We roll up to the nearest uniformed officer.
“I’m here to see my mother.”
My voice is firm despite everything.
“Now.”
The officer barely glances at me.
“You’ll need to wait your turn.”
He gestures toward a stack of papers.
“Fill out the visitation forms.”
My fingers curl around the wheelchair.
“She’s been here for days.”
I lean forward.
“You don’t understand. I’m all she has.”
My voice cracks slightly.
“I need to see her.”
That finally gets his attention.
His eyes move over me.
The wheelchair.
My pale face.
The way my hand is gripping the armrest like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
“Visitation is restricted in this case,” he says.
“Family only. And not without approval.”
“I am family.”
My voice turns sharp.
“She’s my mother.”
He doesn’t even blink.
“Doesn’t matter.”
His tone is flat.
“Paperwork needs to be filed. Processing takes three days and—”
“I will throw up on your shoes.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
His eyebrows lift.
“And then I’ll probably pass out.”
I point weakly at myself.
“Possibly bleed. Then you’ll have a much bigger problem than paperwork.”
I stare at him.
“Let me see my damn mother.”
Sarah slams both hands onto the counter.
“She’s sick!”
The entire area goes quiet.
“She can only be out of the hospital for a few hours. Are you seriously going to stand there and stop her?”
The officer straightens.
“Lower your voice.”
“No.”
Sarah doesn’t even hesitate.
“You lower yours.”
Her eyes narrow.
“We are not leaving without seeing her.”
“I said—”
“Sir, do you understand what’s happening here?”
Sarah cuts him off.
Her voice is controlled now.
Almost dangerous.
“Ellie is Alpha Dominic’s fated mate.”
The officer freezes.
“If she collapses here because you refused to let her see her own mother, do you really think this ends with paperwork?”
Recognition flashes across his face.
Sarah steps closer.
“Do you know who she is?”
She points toward me.
“Let her in.”
Her words land like a weapon.
The officer stares at her.
“Say that again.”
Sarah doesn’t blink.
“She is Dominic’s fated mate.”
A pause.
“Alpha Dominic.”
The officer’s expression tightens.
“And if you think he won’t hear that you blocked her from seeing her mother while she’s barely able to stand…”
“I didn’t say—”
“I don’t care what you said.”
My voice surprises even me.
It’s weak.
But loud enough.
“She wants to see her mother.”
My hands tremble.
“Now.”
Sarah looks at him.
“Or I swear to the Moon Goddess herself, I will make sure this becomes the worst day you’ve ever had.”
Silence.
The officer looks between us.
Calculating.
Considering.
Finally, he exhales.
“Fine.”
He steps aside.
“Five minutes.”
His eyes narrow.
“No disturbances.”
He looks at me.
“And if she gets upset, you leave.”
Neither of us thanks him.
Sarah immediately pushes my chair forward.
The wheels rattle against the stone floor.
Only then do I realize I’m holding my breath.
Five minutes.
That’s all I get.
We move down a narrow hallway.
The air smells like bleach and old paper.
Cold.
Sterile.
The guard unlocks a door and motions me inside.
There are still bars separating us.
But she’s here.
My mom.
That’s all that matters.
She sits on the other side of the room in an orange jumpsuit.
Her hands are cuffed.
Her perfectly styled hair—the hair she always spent so much time fixing—is now messy and falling around her face.
She looks smaller somehow.
Tired.
Nothing like the woman who always seemed impossible to break.
My chest tightens.
“Mom…”
Her head lifts.
And the moment her eyes find mine, everything inside me cracks.