Chapter 9: Six Months
The six-month review fell on a morning thick with humidity.
I dressed Nolan in clothes that fit and left the moon shirt home. He asked why. I said the judge already knew the important parts. He nodded, satisfied, and brought a library book about telescopes instead.
The courtroom felt less frozen than in January. Familiarity had replaced some of the dread. Carroway argued for expanded time with a thinner stack of exhibits. Grant’s payment history helped me more than any speech I could have written. The court visitor’s update described two homes that were both “adequate,” and one child who spoke of lunch notes and science club without prompting.
Judge Harlan asked Nolan how school was. Nolan said good. The judge asked if he felt safe in both places. Nolan said yes, and then, without drama, “I sleep better at Mom’s.” No one had coached the sentence. It landed anyway.
Primary residence stayed with me. The midweek dinner stayed. A second overnight in Grant’s care was left possible after another period of clean compliance, not granted automatically. Support figures adjusted slightly upward with documented income. Review in a year unless emergency brought us back sooner.
May you like
In the hallway Ruth exhaled like a person who had been holding a rope. Grant approached, said he would keep the payments steady, and looked at Nolan as if seeing a smaller version of a future he had once treated as optional. I took Nolan’s hand and moved toward the exit before the moment could become a renegotiation.
At the diner that afternoon the owner put an extra slice of pie in a box “for the boy.” I did not refuse. Sweetness, when it was not purchased with silence, could be accepted.
