She stormed to the front door, yanking it open. Before she left, she turned back, her eyes burning. “You think you’ve won? Just wait. Wait until Michelle shows the court what kind of father you really are. Wait until everyone finds out how you abandoned your grieving children. Wait until they hear how you cared more about your money than your own blood.”
The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the suddenly silent house.
Mary was crying softly into her father’s leg. “Daddy, is she going to come back? Is she going to take us?”
Marcus knelt, pulling both children into a fierce hug. “No, sweetheart. Never. She is never going to take you anywhere. We are going to fight this, and we are going to win.”
But as he held them, a cold seed of fear was planted in his own heart. Veronica was right about one thing. He had been absent. He had buried himself in work. What if a judge decided he was the unfit parent after all?
The next morning, Richard called. “Well, you were right about one thing, Marcus. She hired Michelle Williams. And they’ve already filed a counter-petition. She’s claiming you are an unfit parent and is asking the court to grant her full custody.”
Marcus felt the blood drain from his face. “What? On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that you abandoned your children emotionally after Sarah’s death. That you’re never home. That she was the sole, loving caregiver, and that your sudden ‘concern’ is just a way to control her. She’s even claiming Mrs. Deborah is lying out of jealousy.”
“But… but the proof! The photos!”
“And we will present that proof. But Marcus, this is what Michelle Williams does. She creates a narrative. She’s going to make Veronica look like a saint and you like a monster. It’s going to get ugly.”
Marcus sat down heavily. “So… what do we do?”
“We stick to the facts. We have the photos. We have Mrs. Deborah’s testimony. And,” Richard said, his voice softening, “we have Mary.”
“Mary?”
“A judge will find a child’s testimony very compelling. Children don’t have complex motives for lying about this kind of thing. But I need to warn you, if Mary testifies, Michelle Williams will cross-examine her. She will try to twist her words and make her sound confused.”
Marcus closed his eyes, the thought of his six-year-old daughter being interrogated by a sharp-tongued lawyer making him sick. “Does she… does she have to?”
“It might be what tips the scale in our favor. But it has to be her choice. Ask her. But don’t you dare force her.”
That afternoon, Marcus sat with Mary in her room, which she had filled with new drawings of her, James, and her father. “Mary, sweetheart? Remember Mr. Richard, my friend the lawyer?”
Mary nodded, coloring in a patch of blue sky.
“Well, the judge… the person who makes the big decisions… might want to hear from you. They might want you to come to a big room and tell them what it was like when Veronica was here.”
Mary’s crayon stopped. “Will… will she be there?”
“Yes,” Marcus said honestly. “She will.”
Mary was quiet for a long time. She looked at her drawing, then at her little brother playing on the floor. “Daddy, if I tell the judge the truth… will Veronica never be able to come back and be mean to James again?”
“That’s the goal, baby. Never again.”
Mary put down her blue crayon and picked up a yellow one. She nodded slowly, her face set with a grim determination that no six-year-old should possess.
“Then I’ll do it,” she said. “James is too little to talk for himself. Someone has to protect him.”
Marcus felt a surge of love and pride so strong it almost knocked the wind out of him. His little girl was the bravest person he had ever known.
The court date was set for the following week. Judge Angela Davis. The battle lines were drawn. On one side, Marcus, Mrs.Deborah, and the truth. On the other, Veronica, Michelle Williams, and a web of calculated lies. And in the middle, a six-year-old girl held the key.
The morning of the hearing, Marcus felt like his stomach was full of hummingbirds. He hadn’t slept. What if the judge didn’t believe Mary? What if Michelle Williams was as good as Richard said?
He went to Mary’s room. She was already dressed, sitting on her bed with James in her lap.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Marcus said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“My tummy feels funny,” Mary admitted. “But I’m ready.”
“You just have to do one thing,” Marcus said, sitting next to her. “You just tell the truth. That’s it. That’s all anyone needs you to do.”
“Will there be a lot of people?”
“Some. But the only one who matters is Judge Davis. She’s a lady who wants to make sure kids are safe. You just talk to her, like you’re talking to me.”
At 9 a.m., Marcus, Mary, James, Mrs. Deborah, and Richard walked into the courthouse. It was a formal, imposing building, and everyone inside spoke in hushed tones.
“Remember,” Richard said quietly as they approached their courtroom, “no matter what Michelle Williams says, you stay calm. She’s going to try to make you angry. Don’t let her.”
The courtroom itself was smaller than Marcus had imagined. At the front of the room, seated behind a high, imposing wooden bench, was Judge Angela Davis. She appeared to be in her fifties, with intelligent, kind eyes and gray hair pulled back in a tidy, no-nonsense bun.
“All rise,” the bailiff called out. “The Honorable Judge Angela Davis, presiding.”
Everyone stood. “Please be seated,” Judge Davis said. “We are here for the custody matter of Johnson versus Johnson, concerning the minor children Mary Johnson, age six, and James Johnson, age eight months.”
Marcus chanced a look across the aisle. There sat Veronica, dressed in a conservative navy-blue suit, her makeup subtle. She was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Sitting next to her was a sharp-looking woman with blonde hair: Michelle Williams.
“Mr. Thomas, you may begin,” the judge said…
