Chapter 10 - The Custody War
Mara didn't hit my mother.
She came close.
Her hand stopped two inches from Evelyn's face.
Then she lowered it.
That restraint probably saved us.
My mother's lawyers filed for emergency temporary guardianship anyway.
Their argument was brutal.
Mara had unstable housing.
Irregular employment.
No permanent school enrollment.
A documented incident of property destruction.
My broken laptop.
My mother had photographs.
Of course she did.
My own history was worse.
DUI at twenty-six.
Rehab at twenty-seven.
A bar fight.
A reckless driving charge.
Every mistake I had spent years burying was suddenly printed in twelve-point font.
The judge looked at me over her glasses.
“Mr. Whitaker, wealth is not a parenting qualification.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
I didn't answer.
Mara squeezed my wrist under the table.
Not affection.
A warning.
The boys stayed with Mara pending a full hearing.
My mother lost the emergency petition.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, outside the courthouse, she approached me alone.
“You think I did this to hurt you.”
“Didn't you?”
“No.”
“Then withdraw it.”
“I can't.”
“Won't.”
She looked older than she had two days earlier.
“Celeste has Maya.”
“We know.”
My chest tightened.
“You know?”
“I helped place her.”
Mara, ten feet away, froze.
I stepped closer.
“Say that again.”
My mother began crying.
Quietly.
“I thought she would be safer.”
Mara crossed the distance.
“You stole my daughter.”
“I was told she would die if she stayed with you.”
“Who told you?”
“Your father.”
Everything stopped.
My father.
Again.
Mara shook her head.
“No.”
“He said people were watching the hospital. He said one child had to disappear completely.”
“Why Maya?”
“Because she was the smallest. Because the records already showed complications.”
Mara slapped her.
The sound cracked across the courthouse steps.
My mother did not move.
Mara's hand trembled.
“I am not sorry,” she said.
I believed her.
Then Evelyn looked at me.
“Celeste was supposed to return Maya after the investigation ended.”
“What investigation?”
“The one your father started after he learned Charles Cartwright was using our clinics to launder money.”
Brielle's father.
My almost father-in-law.
My mother pulled a folded note from her purse.
“Your father left this the night he died.”
I opened it.
One sentence.
IF I DIE BEFORE MAYA COMES HOME, CHARLES KNOWS WHY.
Across the street, a camera flashed.
Then another.
Reporters were already running toward us.
May you like
Someone had leaked everything.
