by Lara Swann
Stephanie is clearly uncomfortable when the Judge asks about her plans for the future - especially as he doubles down on her history of travel and the need to provide stability for a young child - and it doesn’t seem like she has a good answer for why she’s insisting on asking for sole custody instead of joint.
He questions her for far longer than he did me, and as I watch Stephanie stumble under some of his penetrating questions, I slowly start to breathe again.
Is he actually…on my side here?
Despite everything Stephanie had told me about how this would go. Despite everything George told me.
All the things I raged about…Stephanie’s abandonment, her unpredictability, her selfish willingness to disrupt Emma’s whole life…maybe they really do matter in these proceedings.
I don’t want to let myself hope, but I can feel it start to grow within me, a small flicker. I don’t dare look behind me to see if it’s reflected on Mom or Jessica’s faces, either, but I can feel my anticipation growing as the final evidence is discussed.
It’s going to be okay. It has to be. It’s the only thing that’s right—
“There is one more piece of evidence that we’d like to submit for your consideration.” Stephanie’s lawyer says. “It’s not on the original list submitted because it’s only recently come into our possession, but we really do believe it’s crucial that you see it before you make your decision.”
George jumps up, irritation flickering on his face, and the Judge gestures an acknowledgment as my stomach twists itself up in knots.
“Yes, I know your objection.” He frowns, regarding Stephanie’s lawyer with narrowed eyes. He pauses for a moment, then finally gestures the man forward. “I’m reluctant to allow it at this late stage, but I don’t feel able to dismiss something that could be important to my decision before I’ve seen it, not in family matters like these. Approach with your new evidence - and Mr. Farley, you too - and I will determine whether it is indeed critical enough to consider.”
I glance over towards Stephanie as the two lawyers approach the bench, and seeing her small smile has me suddenly on edge.
What is this, Stephanie? What are you playing at?
I turn back toward the Judge to see George arguing furiously in a low tone, gesturing emphatically as he exchanges harsh words with the other lawyer that I can’t hear. My blood chills at the sight - I don’t think I’ve ever seen George anything other than calm and collected - and it doesn’t get any better as the Judge eventually cuts him off, shaking his head with an unreadable glance in my direction.
“I will allow this into evidence.” Judge Halliby says, speaking up as he glances back towards Stephanie and I. “It does seem too important to ignore, and I would like to explore it further.”
“I’ll…need a few minutes to consult with my client. May we have a short break, Your Honor?” George asks, to an affirmative nod from Judge Halliby.
I glance back at Stephanie as George walks back towards me, to see her smile has shifted into a triumphant expression, one that fills me with foreboding.
“George?” I ask, as soon as he gets close enough that I can’t be accused of shouting across the courtroom. “What’s going on? What is it? What’s she done—”
He sets the piece of paper in front of me, his gaze bleak.
“Please tell me you didn’t sign this, Nathan. I’d very much like to argue it’s some kind of mistake or…sabotage.”
I look down—and everything in me freezes in horror at the simple, casual agreement in front of me. The document Jessica drew up off-hand just after we married. The one that, in the middle of all the official documents we were signing, was just supposed to be between the two of us. The one with just a single, very simple, clause.
Within three months of the custody case closing, we agree to divorce.
No. Fuck. No.
“Fuck.” George mutters himself, obviously reading the answer in my expression.
“How? How could they even have—”
“That’s not the question for right now.” George says, his tone grim as I try to grapple with everything this means, pure horror and disbelief overwhelming me.
“I—it wasn’t—it didn’t mean anything—” I say, but even as I say it, I know how useless that is now. I can read it in his eyes - the how could you be so stupid look that he doesn’t even try to hide - the same question I’m asking myself.
It wasn’t a real document. It probably wouldn’t have even been binding.
She only did it for me. To reassure me. And now…
Now…what the hell do we do now?!
“It doesn’t matter what you meant by it.” George says. “It’s proof that your marriage isn’t real - that it’s something you did for this case - and we’re not going to be able to shake that accusation.”
“What do we do?” I ask, starting to feel slightly frantic as adrenaline rushes through me. “How do we deal with this, George?”
The grim line of his mouth tells me more than I want to know. He glances back over his shoulder and my heart beats harder in my chest as I wonder how long we have left to work this out - how on earth we can work this out.
“I’m not going to argue it. We’d waste time and effort trying to discredit it and in getting drawn into an argument we can’t win, we’d only erode whatever goodwill we have left.” He nods, as if coming to the decision as he’s talking. “I’ll appeal to whatever understanding and sympathy he might have for someone in your situation, and reiterate how important stability is for Emma. He seemed to like those arguments.”
“Okay.” I say, nodding and trying to think clearly. That sounds sensible…
“I’ll try to win the best deal I can for you.” George adds, and my heart lurches into my throat.
I don’t like that sound of that. There isn’t another deal that can work.
I need custody.
“George—”
Judge Halliby calls the court back to order before I can say anything more and George gives me one last sympathetic glance before refocusing his attention on the case - and the grilling he’s about to receive from Judge Halliby.
“One simple question for you, Mr. Farley.” Judge Halliby says, his expression somehow more serious than before. “Did your client sign that document?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” George says simply, meeting his gaze without flinching. “If I may explain—”
“I don’t see that any explanation is needed.” Judge Halliby says, his expression darkening as his gaze flicks between George and I. I steel myself for it, but I can’t even blame him for the condemnation there. “The document makes it clear that Mr. Blake’s ‘marriage’ was made for the purposes of deceiving this court. He brought an unknown woman into his daughter’s life purely to improve his chances at retaining custody and he has shown complete disregard for this court in doing so—if not outright contempt. Whatever my thoughts on the custody of Emma Blake before this, if this court cannot trust Mr. Blake to be honest and forthright in these proceedings, it is clear we cannot entrust him with custody either.”
Cannot trust him with custody…cannot trust him…
The words ring in my ears, repeating again and again in a haze as my whole world crumbles before me, just like that. All I can see is the dark censure in Judge Halliby’s gaze, all I can hear are those words…those damning words that are horrifically, sickeningly true.
He’s not wrong. I did everything he thinks I did.
For a terrible, sickening instant, rage sweeps through me and my gaze turns red as I look at George. He was the one that suggested this—insisted on this—conned me into it.
Judge Halliby had been on my side. I’m sure of it. If I hadn’t done this—if we’d never concocted this absurd scheme, then maybe—
But we did.
I did.
No one forced me. I might have hated the idea, but that didn’t stop me from doing it. It was my decision. I lied. I pretended. And just like that, my anger deflates
, turning desolate as the realization sweeps over me.
I did this. It was me. I failed her. Completely and utterly.
And now…now…
I’ve lost her.
It doesn’t sink in. I don’t think it can sink in. I keep thinking it, trying to imagine it, but I just can’t.
She’s my whole life.
Around me, George is still arguing with Judge Halliby - he’s insisted on his closing statement and he’s trying to argue about stability, about travel, about a home base - but I can barely hear him through the distant fog of my mind.
They wrap it up, George turning to explain the concessions he’s won, but none of it means anything to me.
I’ve lost custody of Emma.
If I can’t protect and care for her…keep her safe and secure and with me…then nothing else matters.
We’re hustled out of the courtroom before I really know what’s happening, too lost in everything that’s gone wrong to care. I’m dimly aware of Stephanie sweeping past with her team, a troubled expression on her face as she talks fiercely with her lawyers. She doesn’t even glance in my direction. Mom is there a moment later, crying, and Jessica goes white as she sees the ‘evidence’ Stephanie’s lawyers presented, her mouth opening in shock as she stammers devastated apologies.
I barely hear any of it. There’s only one thought circling again and again as my head spins and I feel like I’m about to throw up.
How am I going to explain any of this to Emma?
My sweet, precious three year old. My poor girl.
My baby.
Chapter Seventeen
Nathan
T he Judge gives me a week to transfer custody.
I think it’s the most heartbreaking week of my life. Worse than when I discovered Stephanie’s betrayal, worse than when she walked out on me and left me with Emma…worse even than the last week of watching Dad slowly fade away.
I spend the first day of it filing an appeal with George. His expression makes it obvious how successful he thinks that’s going to be, but I don’t care. I’m insistent anyway, and he doesn’t argue. It’s almost like I’m possessed by some sort of crazy energy, propelling me forward and making me do things, because if I don’t - if I slow down or stop for long enough - then the reality of it is finally going to sink in, swallowing me up until I’m drowned by it all. I can’t let that happen. Not when Emma still needs me. I have to do what little I can - anything I can - for my little girl.
I’ve already failed her badly enough…
I realize on the second day that there’s no way - even if that is successful - it’s going to fix this by the end of the week. I’m going to have to start preparing somehow.
And I’m going to have to start preparing Emma.
I hate every moment of it - every thought of it - but even if it might be easier for me to wait, it wouldn’t be at all fair to spring this on her towards the end of the week. She has every right to know what’s coming too and to spend some time adjusting to the idea as much as she can.
It goes about as badly as I expected.
My heart in my throat, my stomach twisted with knots, I gather her to me on the couch that evening and finally face the truth.
I’m going to have to tell her. And the longer I put it off, the worse it will be for her.
That’s about the only thing that pushes me forward.
“Emma, sweetie.” I say gently. “Daddy has something he needs to talk to you about.”
She blinks up at me, wriggling slightly in my lap, and I continue. I have no idea how to approach this. I know exactly what it’s going to do to her, and I can’t think of a single way to make it any better.
“You know that recently we’ve been going to visit your Mommy?”
“Yeahh…” She nods, but I can tell she’s already getting distracted. It’s not easy to hold her attention without getting right to the point, sometimes.
“Do you like Mommy?”
“Yes! She’s…my Mommy.” Emma says, smiling broadly, as if the answer is obvious. In any other circumstance, that might bring out a wave of conflicted feelings in me, but right now all I can be is relieved.
“And do you remember her house? When we visit her?”
Emma nods, but she’s looking confused.
“Do you like it? Mommy’s house?”
“Umm…yes…” Emma says, seeming to try to think about it.
“Well, that’s good.” I say, squeezing her little leg where it’s tucked up under her, and trying to work out how I can possibly put this in a way that she might be able to understand.
“You see the thing is, Emma, some people have decided - very important people, that we can’t say no to - that you’re going to go and live with Mommy for a while, in her house.”
I have to add for a while. I have to believe this is only going to be temporary - that the appeal is going to work - for both of our sakes’.
Her face scrunches up in confusion.
“With Mommy?”
I nod. “Yes, with your Mommy.”
“And you?”
Oh god.
That hits me like a sucker-punch to the gut.
“No, sweetie.” I say, trying not to choke on the words. “I can’t. I have to stay here. But you’ll see me lots—every moment I’m allowed to, I promise—and you’ll come back to visit—”
“Noo!” Emma shakes her head, frowning. “No, I want to live here, Daddy. With you.”
“I know.” I say, and I can see her reacting to the hoarseness in my tone as much as anything else, my heart breaking for what feels like the thousandth time. “I know, sweetie. I want you to say here too. But we’re not allowed to. You’re going to have to live with Mommy for a while.”
“No, no, no.” Emma continues shaking her head. I can tell she doesn’t really believe it, doesn’t really understand, but how can she? She’s three. “I don’t want to.”
“I don’t want you to either. I love you more than anything in the world and I want you to stay here with me too, but sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.” I say, clutching her tight. “I love you and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure this isn’t for long—that you can come back and live here soon—but you’re going to have to be really brave and strong and live with Mommy for a little bit first.”
“But…but…whyyy, Daddy?” Emma’s looking more scared and confused with every passing moment and all I can do is hold her close. I can’t explain this to her. I don’t understand it myself.
“Because…that’s what we have to do. It’s the law—the rules. We don’t have a choice.”
“That’s not fair!”
“I know. It’s not fair.” I agree. “I’m sorry, Emma. I’m so, so sorry, but it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay, and I’m going to see you every few days. I promise.”
“Nooo!” She yells, flinging her arms around my neck and clinging to me, finally starting to sob as it seems to hit her. “No! I want you, Daddy. I love you! I want to stay here!”
My promise seems to make things worse. I can understand that. Every few days is a terrifying thought when she’s used to having me there all the time. It’s terrifying for me too. I know that it was hard fought and I should be grateful for the concessions George won, mostly with the argument that Emma needed the reassurance of my consistent presence during this upheaval. I get to see Emma for two evenings a week and every other weekend for both full days. No overnight stays for the first few months, mostly so she can settle into her new home and routine, but after that she can stay with me every other weekend.
And most importantly, Emma’s home has to be here, in Manchester, and neither of us is allowed to take her out of State overnight for at least a year, to avoid any additional disruption.
Stephanie can’t relocate. She can’t take Emma away from me. I’m still going to live in the same town with my daughter and my practice.
I know that considering everything, that should feel like
a major victory - and I have some idea how difficult it was for George to secure - but it all just feels so pitiful when compared to what should be happening.
They shouldn’t be doing this to my little girl.
I hold her tight, feeling my own eyes stinging, and all I can do is murmur small, meaningless reassurances.
“NO! I don’t want to—I don’t want to—I don’t waaaant tooo!” Emma starts yelling, her little fists waving as she starts melting down completely.
I hold her through it, rocking her and letting her scream. As far as I’m concerned, she’s entitled to. I try my best to reassure her through her fear, but there’s nothing I can do to change anything, not anymore, and that helplessness eats at me.
It takes me hours to get her to calm down, and even then it’s mostly just exhaustion that does it. She’s still mumbling as I take her upstairs and slowly get us through her evening routine.
“I won’t…I won’t…not going to…”
I soothe her and eventually she lets me read to her, falling asleep before I even make it halfway through the book. Then I look down at her and sigh, leaning forward to kiss her forehead and smooth her tangled mess of hair out of her eyes.
My precious girl.
How could anyone do this to you? To us?
I find myself curling up next to her there, cradling her in my arms and holding onto her for as long as I can, until I’m slowly drifting off to sleep too.
Unfortunately, as I expect, she’s just as upset when she wakes up the next day, and the screaming and crying becomes as she rails against everything that’s being forced on us becomes a pattern that plays out again and again over the week. I can’t blame her for any of that - there’s a secret part of me that wishes I could give in to the simple desire to do the same - but it hurts to watch my small hope of making the most of our last week together slowly die.
I still try to spend as much time with her as I can, doing all her favorite things and indulging whatever little whim she might have when I do manage to distract her from what’s happening at the end of the week. I tell her over and over again how much I love her, and that I’ll still be there - that she’ll still see me, and I’ll be coming for her. This won’t be forever. Hopefully, not even long…
