I Walked Into Court Holding My Newborn Son—While My Husband’s Lawyer Smiled
Marcus’s smile widened.
“No, Your Honor,” I said. “Not today.”
Evan gave a quiet laugh. “Of course not.”
I shifted my son carefully to my left arm and took the red folder from my bag.
It was thick — organized by date, divided with yellow, blue, and black tabs, every section numbered and cross-referenced. I had built it during midnight feedings and the long hospital nights Evan had not come to, during the weeks he believed I was too frightened and too shattered to think clearly about anything.
Marcus noticed the folder and made a sound that carried just enough condescension to fill the space between us.
“A plea for mercy?” he said.
I walked to the judge’s bench. I set the folder down in front of him. Then I turned once to look at Evan.