"Only two tests in the past two months?" Ms. Chen's voice issharp. "For someone claiming long-term sobriety, that seems insufficient. Have you used drugs in the past six months?"
The pause is too long. Way too long.
"No," Jessica finally says, but I can see people in the courtroom exchanging looks. Nobody believes her.
"No further questions, Your Honor."
The rest of the day is medical records, expert testimony on attachment and stability, and character witnesses via written statements. Emma's letter is read aloud, describing Tyler's transformation into a devoted father. Diane's testimony about seeing Harper thriving. The pediatrician's statement that Harper shows all signs of a well-loved, well-cared-for child.
My color-coded charts are submitted as evidence, blown up on a screen showing several months of meticulous care. Every feeding is documented. Every diaper change. Every milestone. The judge examines them closely, and I hope she sees what I intended—proof of consistent, attentive parenting.
By four-thirty, Judge Morrison calls it for the day.
"We'll reconvene tomorrow at 9 a.m. for final testimony and closing arguments. The court is adjourned."
Tyler and I walk out of the courthouse exhausted and shell-shocked. Nine hours of testimony, of evidence, of our entire life being examined and judged.
"How do you think it went?" I ask Ms. Chen in the hallway.
"Well. Tyler was excellent. Jessica was less credible than I had hoped. The evidence is strongly in our favor." She pauses. "But it's not over yet. Tomorrow is crucial. You'll testify, then closing arguments, then we wait for Judge Morrison's decision."
"How long does that take?"
"Could be immediate. Could be days. It depends."
We drive home in silence, both too drained to process everything. Diane's waiting with Harper, who's apparently been perfect all day.
"How'd it go?" Diane asks.
"As well as it could," Tyler says, taking Harper and holding her close. "One more day. Then we'll know."
That night, neither of us can sleep. We lie in Tyler's bed. We stopped pretending to maintain separate rooms three days ago, when Tyler walked into the guest room one night and said, "I asked you not to disappear on me. You didn't. I'm asking now if you'll come back." And I followed him out without saying anything because there was nothing to say that wasn't yes. We've been here since, holding each other in the dark while Harper sleeps peacefully in the nursery.
"Tomorrow, I testify," I say quietly.
"You'll be great."
"What if I say the wrong thing? What if I mess this up?"
"You won't." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "Tell the truth. Tell them what you told me—that you love Harper. That she's thriving. That taking her away would be cruel."
"I'm terrified."
"Me too."
We fall asleep eventually, tangled together, holding each other through the fear and uncertainty of not knowing what tomorrow will bring.
41
TYLER
Ibarely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw worst-case scenarios—the judge ruling in Jessica's favor, Harper being handed over to a woman who abandoned her, or us being forced to say goodbye to the baby we've been raising.
Nora didn't sleep either. I could feel her lying awake beside me, her breathing too controlled to actually be asleep, both of us pretending for the other's sake.
Diane ended up driving back home last night. She’s coming back down with Emma when the judge has a decision; she wouldn’t miss it, but she had things she needed to handle at home first. Michelle and Liam came over just before we had to leave to take her place so Harper could stay in her own space, on her own schedule, nowhere near the courthouse or anyone with a camera.
By the time we’ve driven away, Michelle has already sent a text that flashes inside the car.