My mother spoke first, insisting the CPS call was a misunderstanding, that the attempted move-in was a family arrangement blown out of proportion, that the break-in allegations were fiction, that I had become emotionally unstable and had turned against them for no reason.
The judge listened impassively.
Then Gregory stood.
He laid out the timeline calmly, methodically, piece by piece.
The unannounced move-in.
The police-verified trespassing.
The changed locks.
The threats by text.
The CPS report.
The attempted forced entry.
The lawsuit.
The messages.
The pattern.
Lydia shifted uncomfortably as he read aloud one of her texts.
You won’t get away with this.
Dad rubbed his temple. Mom’s jaw clenched so tightly the tendons in her neck bulged.
When Gregory finished, the room felt heavier somehow.
The judge took a moment before speaking.
“Mrs. Monroe,” he said, addressing my mother. “This is not a misunderstanding. This is a clear pattern of harassment.”
Mom’s lips parted.
“But—”
“No,” he said sharply.
She closed her mouth.
Then the judge turned to me.
“Ms. Monroe, based on the evidence and the testimony presented today, the court will grant your request.”
The words washed over me like a wave.