Chapter 8: The Hearing Date
The court scheduled a preliminary hearing on the motion for the following month.
In the weeks leading up to it, the pressure took quieter forms. Aaron’s mother stopped by my parents’ house once, claiming she only wanted to “clear the air.” My father asked her to leave after ten minutes. Gerald sent a long email to Rebecca outlining every way he believed the house was being “underutilized” and how family resources should be shared.
I stopped reading the forwarded messages after the third one.
Instead I focused on the baby. The high-risk designation meant frequent appointments. My mother drove me to every one. My father installed extra handrails along the staircase and checked the security system every evening before he left.
One afternoon, while we waited for the ultrasound technician, my mother took my hand.
“You’re allowed to be angry,” she said.
“I am angry,” I answered. “But I’m more tired of being reasonable with people who only respect strength.”
She squeezed my fingers.
May you like
“Then keep being strong. We’ve got you.”
The ultrasound showed the baby growing well. A strong heartbeat. Good measurements. For a few minutes in that dim room, the legal fight and the family pressure faded into the background. There was only the rhythmic sound of a life that still depended on me to protect the space around it.
