Seven years of scraped knees, bedtime stories, and pancakes cut into triangles—seven years of being my entire world.
Langford closed his file. “Your Honor,” he said calmly, “this case is about stability. Love does not pay the bills.”
The judge wrote something down, and my stomach twisted.
It was true—I worked two jobs, struggled to make ends meet, and lived in a small one-bedroom apartment where Emily slept behind a curtain.
But none of that showed the real life we had: the late-night school projects, the mornings I braided her hair, or the way she would come to me after a nightmare.
Then Daniel cleared his throat. I knew that sound—he was enjoying this.
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