Page 75 of Lillian

The seriousness in his face brings a different level to today. The way he said it sounds like he’s nervous about the outcome.

“Michael. I need you to be honest with me, what are my odds today now? Without Grace here.”

We make it to the room, and he puts his hand out to open the door for me but pauses. His eyes search mine for a second before sighing. “I don’t know. Half the time, the outcome in court depends on the judge you get.”

“And Judge Whittington?” My voice wavers.

“Favors reunification.”

For the number of people crowding the benches in the room, it is unbelievably quiet. I suppose everyone else’s lawyer gave them the same speech as mine did. Almost immediately, my eyes find the back of Talia’s blonde head of hair. She’s dressed almost exactly like me, down to the damn hairstyle. Michael puts a hand on my back, drawing my attention to him, and he shakes his head, telling me silently to ignore her.

Easier said than done, but I nod and follow him to an empty bench in the back.

We sit there for an hour watching other people’s cases. The judge pulls a file from his enormous stack, waits for the court reporter to read the docket number, and then confirms the case with the plaintiff or defendant.

“The judge hears this many cases a day?” I whisper to Michael, leaning in close so the people around us can’t hear us, much less the judge.

He shakes his head as he watches the case currently being decided—a small claims case for a homeowner who stiffed a landscaper out of a few thousand dollars. His head bends down closer to me to respond. “Depends on the day and type of case. This is a heavy day. Sometimes, he only hears one or two. Other weeks, he’ll load all his cases into one day.”

A gavel bangs, and the judge rules in favor of the landscaper. The court reporter stands up and reads from her sheet of paper. “Docket number six-four-two-three-J-eight-eight-one.”

“That’s us,” Michael tells me, and my heart feels like it drops into my stomach, heavy as a ten-pound weight, as we both stand.

On weak legs, I walk to the front of the room, and Michael guides me to the table on the left. Talia and her lawyer take the one on the right.

The judge takes his time marking something on the last file, then pulls a new one—ours, presumably—from his pile and reads it before finally looking up at us.

“You can be seated,” he asserts, and we all take a seat. “Our twenty-six hearing is now a change of circumstance hearing for Ms. Talia Wilson. Is that correct?” the judge asks, looking at Talia and her lawyer. A twenty-six hearing…where we were supposed to rule that Talia’s parental rights be terminated so I could adopt Grace once and for all. That’s what this was supposed to be. Hearing the judge announce the switch to a change of circumstance where she is hoping to change the custody order back in her favor feels like a knife is slicing me open.

“That’s correct, your honor,” her lawyer confirms.

“I’m told we also have Miss Grace Wilson,” he continues, looking at the sheet of paper or notes in front of him.

I lean forward to say she’s not here, but Michael taps me on the leg, stands and speaks for me. “No, your honor. Grace was supposed to be here, but she was admitted to the hospital last night with pneumonia, where she remains under observation.” His words are matter-of-fact and face blank. I hate it.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Who’s with Grace now, then?” the judge asks, and this time it’s directed right at me. But I’m so nervous about knowing when to talk or not talk, so I glance up at Michael, who nods. I answer.

“My sister and my nephew are at the hospital with her, your honor.” The look in his eyes is one of sorrow, for Grace being sick, I presume.

“I hope she has a speedy recovery,” he tells me, and I thank him. The judge moves on quickly.

“Ms. Wilson, I see that you have been keeping up with your visitation. It says here that you’re also six months sober. Is that still the case?” He glances at Talia from under his glasses.

“Yes, your honor. Almost seven now,” she answers him, and I grit my teeth, wishing like hell I could call her a liar. She’s never stayed sober this long, and with my whole being, I know she’s lying now.

“Congratulations,” he says, a little off-handedly, and it cools my temper just a little. I don’t think it’s as much of a dig at her as it is that he's seen a lot of cases today, and the room still has a good number left after us. The man is probably fed up, but it still goes some way to making me feel better.

“I’ve looked over all of the documentation submitted by counsel. Ms. Wilson has kept the same residence for over a year as well as the same job, is that correct?” Another question for her lawyer.

“That’s correct, your honor.”

“And if Grace was to be placed in your custody today, your current residence could accommodate her?” He raises a brow at Talia to answer.

“Yes, your honor,” she says, but her lawyer adds a little more.

“Child services made a home visit to Ms. Wilson’s residence prior to the hearing and signed off on it. I have that confirmation with me, as well as some new information that came to light that is relevant to today’s hearing.” The lawyer holds up a folder, and my pulse picks up when I see Michael frowning at it, confused.

This doesn’t bode well.

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