As the final hearing approached, the guardian ad litem completed her report. Rebecca Snow had interviewed everyone, reviewed records, watched interactions, and cut through performance with the merciless practicality only experienced family court officers seemed to possess.
Her recommendation was clear: full custody should go to Dorothy Brennan.
When Emmett told Dorothy, she sat down on the hotel bed and laughed once in disbelief.
“Not because I’m exceptional,” she said.
“No,” Emmett replied. “Because you are reliable. Courts like reliable.”
Reliable.
It was such a plain word for the work women did. It covered feeding infants at three in the morning, surviving your child’s funeral, learning legal timelines, and refusing to lose your mind when everyone around you would benefit from it.
The night before the final hearing, Dorothy could not sleep.
She drove to the cemetery instead.
The grass was damp. The air smelled of cold earth and cut stems. Someone had left fresh daffodils at Colleen’s grave. Dorothy touched the granite headstone, traced her daughter’s name, and sat on the bench nearby.
“I don’t know if I can carry all of this forever,” she whispered into the dark.