by Sabrina York
Caris recoiled from the woman’s anger. She bit down the urge to apologize, knowing she had made the right decision. Jessica’s place was with her. Her baby’s narrow escape from Mrs. Donovan made her feel giddy with relief. Without another word, she left the restroom to find Murphy.
He was already at the table, and Caris dropped into the seat beside him. “She’s angry with me. She wants revenge because I changed my mind.”
He didn’t miss a beat, as if ten minutes hadn’t passed. “Mrs. Donovan won’t be an issue. I’m confident she has been discredited.”
“I hope so,” Caris said fervently as Brendan and his attorney took their places, and the judge returned. The courtroom was empty now because all the witnesses had been called, except for her and Brendan. She clutched the hem of her jacket as Brendan walked to the bench to be sworn in.
Ms. Monroe stood up. “How long have you been a father, Mr. McNeil?”
“Apparently my daughter is four-months-old.”
“How long have you known your daughter?”
He slumped in the seat. “I found out about her last month. I’ve seen her three times a week since then.”
“Do you love your child?”
Caris’s eyes widened as Brendan’s hands shook. No one bought his act, did they?
“Of course.”
“Why weren’t you involved with her life sooner?”
“Her mother left without telling me about Jessica. She hid her from me.”
Ms. Monroe wrote something. “Why would she do that, Mr. McNeil?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“There must be some reason.”
He sighed. “I had an affair, and she found out. I think she left to punish me and kept Jessica from me for the same reason.”
Caris’s mouth dropped open, and she barely bit back a harsh laugh in time.
“Why are you asking for full custody of your daughter instead of joint?”
“I don’t think she’s safe with my ex-girlfriend. Her friends have been in and out of jail. She has a low-paying job and no family.” His voice broke. “Caris—Ms. Reese—took her out joyriding at three A.M. on icy roads. Jessica could have been killed by her boyfriend’s recklessness.”
Ms. Monroe wrote something else and lifted her head. “You’ve petitioned for Ms. Reese to be allowed only supervised visitation. Why is that?”
“I don’t trust her not to take my daughter.” Brendan’s face crumpled. “I don’t want to hurt her, or deprive Jessica of her mother. I only want Caris to get her life together before she’s responsible for a baby’s life.”
“Thank you, Mr. McNeil.” Ms. Monroe returned to her seat.
Mr. Murphy stood up. “How many times did you hit Ms. Reese in the four months you lived together?”
Brendan’s eyes widened. “Never!”
He flipped through a file on the desk. “You didn’t hit her hard enough to make her collide with a coffee table?”
“No.”
“You never pushed her down a flight of stairs?”
His blue eyes widened. “Of course not.”
“How many times did you force sexual relations on Ms. Reese?”
Brendan shook his head. “It was the other way around. She was insatiable.”
Mr. Murphy’s eyebrows rose. “I see. How did you meet Ms. Reese?”
“She sold me a tie.”
“How old was she?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Does eighteen sound right?”
“I guess.”
“How old are you, Mr. McNeil?”
“Twenty-nine.”
Mr. Murphy studied Brendan for a moment. “You believe she kept your child from you because she was angry?”
“Absolutely.”
“Could it be that she didn’t tell you because she was afraid for her child?”
A petulant frown slashed across his face. “That’s crazy.”
“Did you ever tell Ms. Reese that you didn’t want children?”
“Yeah, but that was before I knew I had one.” His expression appeared sincere. “I was a fool. I can’t imagine my life without Jessica now.”
“Thank you. No more questions.”
After Brendan left the stand, looking supremely confident, Caris walked forward on shaky knees. She stepped up into the small box and sat in the supple leather seat. After being sworn in, she waited for Mr. Murphy’s questions to begin.
“Why didn’t you tell Mr. McNeil about your pregnancy?”
“I was afraid of him.” She clutched her hands together. “He was so jealous, and he had hurt me several times. I couldn’t let him do that to my baby.”
“Did his affair have any bearing on your decision?” Mr. Murphy asked.
“I didn’t know about an affair. I left when he went away on business.” She closed her eyes for a second, forcing back the memory of the night before she walked out.
“Why didn’t you go to an advocacy or the hospital after he had beaten you?”
She dropped her head. “I know it sounds stupid, but I was too afraid of him. I was afraid to leave and afraid to stay.”
“Didn’t you need a doctor when he hurt you?”
“Yes, but I didn’t go.” Caris fingered the scar under her eye.
“What happened when you left Mr. McNeil?”
“I got another job. He made me quit my old one when I moved in with him.” Caris glanced at Brendan briefly, but found his cold expression did nothing to bolster her nerves. “I had a hard time making ends meet, and I was sick because of the pregnancy. When I met Mandy, we decided to combine our finances.”
“Why were you going to give up Jessica?”
“I didn’t think I could afford to take care of her.”
“Why did you change your mind?”
Caris’s eyes filled with tears. “I wasn’t going to hold her. My case worker at CASCADE told me that’s where a lot of adoptive mothers go wrong.” A tear splashed down her cheek, and she brushed it away impatiently. “Then she cried, and she kept crying. It broke my heart, so I picked her up.” She smiled. “Jessica stopped crying right away. She knew I was her mother.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t go through with it.”
“What about Mrs. Donovan’s claim that you asked for money?”
“I never met her. I got a small packet of information about the Donovans, but it had no picture or location information. It was only about their family, background, and interests. I chose the Donovans from about fifty families.”
“Did you know Mr. Jones was drinking the night he drove you to the hospital?”
Caris shook her head vigorously. “No. If so, I wouldn’t have gotten in the car with him. I would have sent for an ambulance.”
“Did you know your roommate is a prostitute?”
Reluctantly, Caris nodded. “Yes. She isn’t exclusively a prostitute, but she does work as one from time to time.”
“Has she ever brought a customer back to the apartment?”
“No.”
“Has Ms. Chase ever asked you to work with her?”
Caris shook her head. “She wouldn’t do that.”
“Who watches Jessica while you work?”
“Little Happy’s Daycare.”
Mr. Murphy nodded. “I’m finished, your honor.”
Caris’s stomach started burning as Ms. Monroe rose to survey her with cold eyes. Mr. Murphy had warned her this would be the hardest part of the hearing.
“Isn’t it convenient for you to claim abuse, but have no proof to back it up?”
She caught her breath at the vicious question.
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“If you were too afraid of Mr. McNeil to seek help, why did you stay with him for four months?”
“As I said, I was afraid to leave. He once told me he wouldn’t ever let me go. Bre—Mr. McNeil said I belonged to him.”
“It had nothing to do with the gifts he showered on you?�
� Ms. Monroe lifted a large stack of papers and turned to the judge. “These are receipts for presents purchased by Mr. McNeil during an eight-month period while he was involved with Ms. Reese. I would like to enter them into evidence.” She turned back to Caris. “He spent $100,000 on you.”
“I never asked him to.” Caris lifted her chin. “I didn’t take any of it with me when I left. Well, a few clothes, but no jewelry or the car he bought. I don’t even drive.”
“Have you ever used drugs, Ms. Reese? You are under oath.”
Caris’s reeled at the question, falling back in the chair. “What?”
“Have you ever used illegal drugs for the purpose of getting high?”
She tried to establish eye contact with Mr. Murphy, but he seemed to be deliberately ignoring her. “A couple of times in high school.”
Ms. Monroe lifted a brow. “Nothing since then?”
She shook her head.
“But you’re good friends with an addict?”
“I—”
She didn’t wait for an answer. “Has Mr. Jones ever used drugs in your presence, or the presence of your daughter?”
Caris hesitated, wanting to lie. “Once he lit a joint, and we left immediately.”
“I see. Did you call the police?”
Caris shook her head.
“Yes or no, please.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It wasn’t my business.”
“I see.” She paused for a moment, and then asked, “Do you love your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Then you want what’s best for her, don’t you?”
Once again, Caris hesitated. She sensed a trap, but didn’t know how to avoid it. “Yes.”
“How much money do you make per year?”
“A-about twelve thousand.”
Ms. Monroe took time to write something on the tablet. “Can you send her to the best schools when making twelve thousand a year?”
“No—”
“Will Jessica get every opportunity on your yearly salary?”
“No, but—”
“Won’t your daughter grow up being raised by child care providers rather than you?”
“No!”
Ms. Monroe’s voice softened. “Won’t Jessica be better off with Mr. McNeil, who can give her everything? She’ll have every advantage with him.”
“Except love. He doesn’t love her as I do. Love is all she needs.”
“A beautiful sentiment, but naïve, Ms. Reese.” Ms. Monroe turned to the judge. “Nothing more.”
He rapped his gavel on the bench. “Fifteen minute recess.”
Caris hurried from the witness stand, back to Mr. Murphy. “What happens now?”
“He’ll spend a few minutes deliberating, and then announce a decision.”
“What kind of decision?” Her eyes pleaded with him, but he avoided making eye contact.
“I don’t know.” Mr. Murphy opened his briefcase to put away his items and left the courtroom. Caris stood frozen as Ms. Monroe and Brendan slipped by her. She wanted to wipe that smug look off his face and scream that he would never get her child. He couldn’t get Jessica. The judge must understand that.
Chapter Three
Her nails, though short and unpolished, managed to carve crescents into the soft flesh of her palms. Caris’s stomach churned with acid, and she felt light-headed. Mr. Murphy sat beside her, but she didn’t bother to ask what he thought the judge would say. He seemed not to care, as evidenced by his nose buried in a folder marked Turner.
Her eyes slid to Brendan, sitting across the aisle, looking smug. Not a trace of anxiety showed in his blue eyes. He smirked at Caris when she caught his eyes, making her want to throw up. How could he be so uncaring? Of course, he didn’t care about Jess, and his future didn’t depend on the outcome of the hearing. The judge didn’t have the power to destroy or save his life.
Caris felt nauseated as the judge reentered the room, and they rose. After he had seated them, he slipped his glasses down from his forehead. “It is never easy to make decisions like these. A child is much better off when he or she has two parents, but that can’t always be.” He removed the glasses and closed the file. “I award full custody of the minor child, Jessica Reese, to her father, Brendan McNeil.”
“No!” Caris was out of her seat before her brain could stop her. “You can’t do that. You can’t take away my baby.”
“Sit down,” Murphy hissed, tugging on her arm.
Caris shrugged him off. “He doesn’t love her like I do.”
“Control yourself, Ms. Reece.” The judge’s shout carried throughout the courtroom.
“He only wants Jess because it will hurt me. You’re a monster if you give her to him.”
The judge’s mouth flapped open and closed, and he waved to the bailiff, who rushed forward.
“She belongs with me.” Caris tried to shrug off the bailiff’s hold, but he succeeded in forcing her into the chair. “I’m her mother, for God’s sake!”
Hon. Schwatzman rapped his gavel against the bench several times. “I should hold you in contempt for that outburst.” His tone was strident, and he calmed slightly after a few deep breaths. “The best interest of the child is served by placing her with her father. You aren’t stable enough to raise a child.”
“But—”
He pounded the gavel once more, and his face turned red. “Be quiet!”
Caris bit her tongue and squeezed her hands together.
“As I was saying—” He glared at Caris, clearing his throat. “Full custody is awarded to Mr. McNeil. Ms. Reese will be allowed three weekly supervised visitations for—”
“No!”
“Shut up, Caris,” Mr. Murphy said in a low voice. “He doesn’t have to give you that much.”
Tears filled her eyes, spilling down her cheeks, but Caris tried to maintain her silence as the judge continued after he finished glaring at her.
“The order stands for six months while Ms. Reese undergoes counseling and parenting classes.” He wore a stern expression. “I’m not convinced that you aren’t or weren’t acting under the influence of drugs. Until you are cleared, I won’t allow you to be responsible for the child.” He turned his attention back to the courtroom. “Reevaluation in six months.”
As he started to bang his gavel, Ms. Monroe said, “Excuse me, your honor.”
He sighed audibly. “Yes?”
“Mr. McNeil will be traveling in and out of the country for the next several months, overseeing a business project in Lisbon. Naturally, he’ll want Jessica to accompany him.”
“And?”
“There will be some weeks where Mr. McNeil won’t be in the US at all. The visitations will pose a problem.”
Hon. Schwatzman glared at the two of them. “You didn’t think to mention this sooner?”
Caris felt a faint fluttering of hope, but it was dashed by his next words.
“Order is so amended: Ms. Reese is to have not less than twelve hours of supervised visitation with her daughter per month.”
She sat there, frozen, as the judge dismissed them. Twelve hours a month? She felt tears welling behind her eyes, but they wouldn’t fall. How could she survive by only seeing her baby twelve hours a month—and whenever Brendan felt like giving them to her? Some months she might see Jessica every week, and sometimes once a month, if she was lucky. Bile worked its way up her throat, but she couldn’t seem to get her legs to move. She was still in a rigid state when Brendan took the chair beside her. She looked at him with shimmering green eyes, absently noticing he was blurred around the edges. “What?” She sounded distant and wished she felt so detached.
“One more chance, baby.” He touched her thigh. “You, me, and the brat can live happily ever after.”
She shuddered at his touch. “I won’t come back to you.”
He shrugged, but his eyes burned with anger. “Suit yourself.” The corner of Brendan’s mouth curled. “You’
re young enough to have more.”
She slapped him with all her might, taking savage joy in the sound of her palm against his cheek. When she dropped her hand, a red print remained on his cheek. “You’re an unfeeling monster.”
“You’ll pay for that.” He got up so quickly that the chair tipped backwards, hitting the low wall behind the table with a thud. He stormed out of the courtroom.
Caris’s brief flash of euphoria went with him. She shivered, remembering the look in his eyes. How would he retaliate? Against her, or would he use Jessica to hurt her?
Dominick was still working when the doorbell rang after midnight. He reflexively checked the digital clock on the corner of his desk, making sure it really was as late as he thought. 12:08 glowed in large red numerals. With a sigh, he removed his black reading glasses and dropped them across the opened file. He got out of the leather seat, taking a moment to stretch out the kink in his back that had developed from spending so long bent over the desk. Whoever was calling could wait.
The bell rang again—this time a peal that lasted fifteen seconds or more. Dom bit back a curse as he hurried to the back door in the kitchen, not wanting his mother to be awakened at that hour. He padded across the tile in sock feet, having abandoned his dress shoes within minutes of getting home from the office.
As he neared the door, Dom frowned, wondering what he was hearing. It sounded like a frantic mewl, and he wondered if one of the cats that lived in the barn was sick. But who would have discovered its illness to bring it to the house? He opened the door, unable to keep the grimace from his face when he saw his brother for the first time in years. He didn’t bother with pleasantries. “What do you want, Brendan?”
Brendan pushed his way inside, not waiting for an invitation. “I need your help.”
Dom’s eyes had fastened on the item Brendan had dropped on the floor. It was oddly shaped and covered by a blanket. A frantic sound issued from the occupant. Feeling nervous, Dom lifted a corner of the quilt, gasping at what he saw. A small baby lay inside, making sobbing/sighing sounds. Its face was bright red, and sweat matted its curly brown hair. “A baby?” He shook his head and repeated stupidly, “A baby?”
