Page 62 of Say You're Mine

The courtroom erupts in whispers, and I feel the blood drain from my face. How did they get those? Who could have-

"Objection!" our lawyer shouts, but the damage is done. I can see the doubt creeping into the judge's eyes, the way her mouth tightens with disapproval.

The rest of my testimony is a blur of defensive statements and carefully worded explanations. By the time I step down, I'm drained, my throat raw and my eyes stinging with unshed tears.

We break for lunch, but I can't eat. The knot in my stomach has grown into a writhing mass of anxiety and dread. Natalie tries to coax me into taking a few bites, but the smell of food just makes me nauseous.

"It's not over yet," Dante reassures me, his voice low and urgent. "We've still got closing arguments. Don't give up hope."

I nod mechanically, but inside, I'm screaming. How can I not give up hope when everything seems to be crumbling around us?

The afternoon session drags on, a parade of expert witnesses and legal maneuvering that makes my head spin. I find myself drifting, my hand absently stroking my belly as I imagine a future where none of this matters. Where June and I are far away from here, raising our child in peace.

Finally, mercifully, it's time for closing arguments. Our lawyer goes first, his impassioned plea for understanding and compassion ringing through the courtroom. He paints a picture of two young people committed to building a family, of a man working tirelessly to overcome his demons for the sake of his child.

But Elaine's lawyer is a master manipulator, her words weaving a tapestry of doubt and fear. She speaks of the risks, the potential for tragedy if the court doesn't intervene. By the time she's finished, I can see the sympathy in the jury's eyes has turned to wary concern.

The judge calls for a recess to consider her verdict, and we're left to wait in agonizing suspense. The minutes crawl by like hours, each tick of the clock a hammer blow to my fraying nerves.

When we're called back in, I can barely breathe. The judge's face is unreadable as she delivers her verdict, each word landing like a physical blow.

"Given the unique circumstances of this case," she intones, "I am ordering a temporary joint custody arrangement."

The room erupts in chaos, but I can't move, can't breathe. Joint custody. With Elaine. The very thought makes me sick to my stomach.

"Furthermore," the judge continues, silencing the uproar with a sharp rap of her gavel, "to ensure the health and safety of both Ms. Briers and her unborn child, I am ordering that she reside with Mrs. Deveaux for the duration of her pregnancy."

The world spins, the floor dropping out from beneath me. Live with Elaine? In that cold, sterile mausoleum she calls a home? It's a nightmare, a twisted joke.

But as I look at Dante and Judith, at the grim resignation in their eyes, I know it's all too real.

Elaine approaches, her smile a predator's grin. "Well," she purrs, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "It seems we'll be roommates, my dear. Won't that be lovely?"

I stare at her, this woman who has caused us so much pain, who now holds the keys to my gilded cage. And in that moment, I make a silent vow.

I will play her game. I will smile and nod and be the perfect houseguest. But when the time comes, when she least expects it...

I will burn her world to the ground.

For June. For our child. For the family we've fought so hard to build.

Let the games begin.

The judge's words echo in my ears, a death knell to my hopes. Before I can fully process what's happening, hands are on me, pulling me to my feet. Dante's face swims into view, his expression a mask of shock and fury.

"This isn't over," he growls, but his voice sounds distant, muffled by the roaring in my ears.

The courtroom spins around me, a dizzying kaleidoscope of faces and colors. I catch glimpses of Natalie's tear-streaked cheeks, Judith's clenched jaw. The acrid taste of defeat coats my tongue.

Suddenly, Mama's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and clear as a bell. "You can't do this!" she shouts, her accent thickening with rage. "She's my daughter, not some pawn in your sick games!"

I turn to see her confronting Elaine, finger jabbing accusatorily. The air crackles with tension, heavy and oppressive. Flashbulbs pop, the harsh light searing my retinas. Our private pain has become a public spectacle.

"Now, now," Elaine purrs, her voice dripping honeyed venom. "Let's not make a scene. The judge has made her decision. For the good of the child, of course."

The baby kicks, as if sensing my distress. I curl my arms protectively around my belly, bile rising in my throat. This can't be happening. This can't be real.

But it is. Oh God, it is.

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