She sat on a wooden bench with her purse clutched against her stomach while Fletch paced a path into the floor tile and Jolene held one of Dorothy’s hands without speaking.
At some point Emmett returned from a vending machine with black coffee Dorothy never drank.
“Whatever happens,” he said, “your daughter already won the hardest part.”
Dorothy looked at him. “Protecting them?”
“Leaving proof.”
When the bailiff called them back in, Dorothy stood so quickly her knees protested.
The judge entered. Everyone rose, then sat.
Dorothy could hear her own heartbeat.
“In the matter of custody of Margot, Bridget, and Theodore,” the judge began, “this court finds that the children’s welfare is best served by stability, honesty, and the continuity of demonstrated care.”
Dorothy held still.
“Full legal and physical custody is hereby awarded to Dorothy Ann Brennan.”
The sentence entered Dorothy’s body like warmth after freezing.
Not dramatic.
Not explosive.
Deep.
Final.
She closed her eyes just once.