Chapter 11: The Courthouse Corridor
The security checkpoint at the county courthouse smelled of floor wax and cold iron. I set my canvas tote bag on the plastic tray, watching my keys and phone slide through the x-ray machine's rubber flaps. My hands felt stiff, the skin across my knuckles tight from the cold wind off the plaza. Attorney Vance stood beside me, his gray wool overcoat unbuttoned, holding a thick manila folder tucked securely under his arm. He didn't look at the security guards or the queue behind us; his gaze was fixed straight ahead, scanning the polished marble lobby toward the elevators.
"Keep your breathing steady," Vance murmured, not turning his head as we retrieved our belongings. "The judge on this docket is strict about procedure. We present the facts, the medical affidavit, and the police report. We don't argue with opposing counsel."
"I understand," I said, my voice sounding smaller than I intended against the echoing vault of the ceiling.
We took the elevator to the third floor, stepping out into a corridor lined with heavy oak doors and frosted glass panels. The air here was dead and dry, carrying the faint scent of old paper and anxiety. Benches carved from dark wood ran along both walls, most of them occupied by people sitting in stiff silence, clutching files or whispering anxiously to one another.
We found a pair of empty seats near the corner by the water fountain. I sat down, smoothing the fabric of my skirt over my knees. My fingers traced the seam repeatedly, a small, rhythmic motion to keep my pulse from hammering against my ribs. Vance remained standing, leaning slightly against the wall with his hands in his pockets, keeping a quiet vigil over the hallway.
Across the corridor, near the entrance to courtroom 3B, a familiar figure appeared. My chest tightened instantly.
Grandmore stood beside a tall, sharp-featured man in a tailored charcoal suit who carried a leather briefcase that looked brand-new. She wore her dark blue blouse and trousers, her short white hair perfectly combed, her posture as rigid and unyielding as it had been in the kitchen. She didn't look back at the people sitting on the benches, but her defense counsel did. The lawyer glanced down the hallway, his eyes sweeping over Vance and me with professional detachment before stopping entirely.
He whispered something into Grandmother's ear. She turned her head slowly, her pale eyes locking onto mine across the wide corridor. There was no surprise in her expression, only a cold, calculating assessment, as if I were a piece of malfunctioning machinery she was trying to calculate the cost of replacing. She didn't approach us—court rules and her attorney undoubtedly kept her in check—but she didn't look away either. She held my gaze with a heavy, suffocating weight that made the air in my lungs feel thin.
I didn't flinch. I kept my chin up, remembering the feeling of the kitchen tile, the sound of my daughter's desperate gasps, and the active emergency call screen on the phone. Every second of fear that had paralyzed me in the past seemed to curdle into something harder, a cold resolve settling behind my ribs.
Vance noticed the exchange and stepped closer, blocking Grandmother's line of sight with his broad shoulders. He leaned down slightly, speaking quietly near my ear.
"Let them look," Vance said, his tone steady and reassuring. "They're trying to test your nerve before we walk through those doors. They know the medical affidavit is solid. That's why her lawyer is looking so serious."
Before I could answer, the heavy oak door of courtroom 3B clicked open. A bailiff in a pressed uniform stepped out into the hallway, holding a clipboard against his chest. He scanned the rows of waiting people, his eyes pausing briefly on the roster sheet.
May you like
"In the matter of the protective custody and emergency injunction petitions," the bailiff called out, his voice cutting cleanly through the murmur of the corridor. "Case number 44-CV-8902. Counsel and parties, please enter."
Vance straightened his coat and looked down at me, offering a brief, affirming nod. I stood up from the wooden bench, my legs feeling remarkably steady as we moved toward the open door, leaving the hallway and the watchful eyes of Grandmother behind us.
