Chapter 5 - The Courtroom and the Elephant
On Thursday morning, I put on a navy dress, pinned back my hair, and tucked Mr. Buttons into my handbag. Fiona had insisted I take him for courage. "He's good at being quiet when he wants to," she said, then frowned at her own words. I knelt and told her he didn't have to be quiet to be brave, either.
Rebecca stayed with the girls. Ivan drove me to the courthouse. Miriam met us at the entrance and explained again what this hearing could and couldn't do. We were asking for temporary safety and residence arrangements while the allegations were assessed. No judge was going to determine the entire divorce, the property fraud, and the future of Luca's business in one morning.
Luca stood across the hallway in a charcoal suit. Chloe sat behind him, wearing the cream blouse she'd once borrowed from me for a job interview. Luca took one step toward us. Miriam politely redirected him to communication through counsel. His jaw tightened, but he returned to his attorney.
In the courtroom, Luca's attorney said I was exhausted, emotionally reactive, and had taken Fiona from her family home after an argument. He described the overnight incident as an unfortunate misunderstanding about a child's game. He emphasized my night shifts and proposed that the children return home while the adults worked things out.
I kept my hands beneath the table. I could feel the elephant's worn ear between my fingers.
Miriam presented the sequence: the photographs, the clinic documentation, my contemporaneous messages, Luca's communications, and the fact that Hazel and Kelly were already safely with Ivan. She explained the concerns surrounding the latch and Fiona's account, while avoiding the theatrical claim that a single photograph proved every disputed fact. The clinic's report and the next steps for assessment were before the court.
The judge asked whether either parent had discussed the litigation with the children. I answered that I had told them we were handling adult problems, and that I had sought advice about not repeatedly questioning Fiona. I admitted I'd been frightened enough to cry in front of them. Pretending otherwise would not help anyone.
Luca said he'd never meant Fiona any harm. I looked at him then. He seemed genuinely indignant that his intentions were being questioned, as though promising a puppy could erase a cold floor. He also claimed the latch was a temporary repair for a door that wouldn't stay closed. Our photographs showed fresh installation, but the explanation could be investigated rather than dismissed by my anger alone.
The court ordered the girls to reside temporarily with me, established supervised contact for Luca pending further assessment, and directed both parents not to involve the children in adult disputes. Further evidence and professional evaluations would be considered later. The order wasn't a final ruling on every accusation. It was enough to let my daughters sleep without the fear of being immediately sent back.
Outside, Luca caught up with us near the elevators. "Jessi, don't turn them against me."
I didn't look at him. "They deserve truthful adults. Talk to Miriam."
"You always thought your family was better than mine."
For one terrible second I wanted to say everything I'd been storing up: that my family had fed him when his business failed, that Grandpa had treated him like a son, that my hospital shifts paid the bills he called beneath his attention. Instead I walked into the elevator. It was the only answer he couldn't turn into a recording of me shouting.
Ivan drove us home. Fiona met me at the door and searched my handbag.
"Did Mr. Buttons help?"
"A lot."
She hugged him. "He needs a nap."
"So do I," I said, and for once I kept my promise.
When I woke, Miriam had left two messages. The recorded transfer had created a disputed title, and the lender's lawyer was reviewing notice of the challenged deed. An application to prevent further dealing with the property was being pursued. The second message concerned the notary named on the document: Mara Bell.
I knew Mara. She'd attended Luca's office holiday party two years earlier and handed the children peppermint sticks. Miriam had arranged for the relevant professionals to contact her about the transaction. The first response was promising: Mara couldn't find the purported notarization in her journal.
I sat up and called back. "Does that mean we win?"
"It means we have a fact worth investigating. Don't jump over the steps in between."
Miriam's carefulness had begun to comfort me. For years, Luca had offered confident answers to problems he couldn't possibly have solved. He'd told me everything would be fine while hiding bills in his desk. Now the person helping me was willing to say she didn't know yet.
At dinner, Hazel asked if we could go back for her violin. Her instrument had been Grandpa's gift, purchased after she'd played an entire school concert on a borrowed one. It was still in her bedroom.
"We'll arrange to get your belongings safely," I told her.
"Dad might be mad."
"That's for grown-ups to handle."
Her chin trembled. "I don't want him to throw it away."
I promised to contact Miriam about an agreed property collection. Then I made a list: violin, Kelly's sketchbooks, Fiona's winter coat, medications, school records, Grandpa's photo albums. My life had been reduced to identifying what could fit into a car and what had to be recovered through lawyers.
After dinner, Ivan and I sat on the back steps. He admitted that he'd sometimes resented how much Grandpa trusted me with the house. "I thought I was the practical one," he said. "Then I watched you go back there every Sunday when he could barely remember which tool he wanted."
"He remembered your baseball games."
"He did. And you never once made me feel guilty for missing a Sunday."
We sat with that imperfect history between us. Our family wasn't flawless, and I didn't want to pretend it was. But we could speak about old hurts without using children as leverage.
My phone lit up with a message from Chloe: YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT LUCA IS CAPABLE OF WHEN HE'S CORNERED.
I showed Ivan. He wanted to respond. I shook my head and sent it to Miriam instead.
May you like
A second message arrived a minute later: HE PROMISED ME THE HOUSE, JESSI. HE SAID YOU ALREADY AGREED.
I stared at those words. Chloe was still explaining her choices through promises a man had made. But she'd just placed her own knowledge of the property scheme in writing. I saved the message and, for the first time, didn't feel any need to answer my sister at all.
