The heavy oak doors of the courtroom seemed to hold back the breath of everyone inside. Maya stood small and fragile in the center of the massive room, her mismatched pink cardigan hanging loosely over her shoulders. She didn’t look at the imposing wooden bench, nor did she look at the stern-faced bailiff standing by the wall. She was looking right at me. I offered her a soft, encouraging nod, fighting the tears that threatened to blur my vision.
Judge Eleanor Thorne leaned forward, her silver hair catching the fluorescent light. The intimidating aura she had carried just moments ago melted into something remarkably gentle. "Hello, Maya," the judge said softly, her voice carrying a maternal warmth. "My name is Judge Thorne. You don't have to be afraid. You’re here so we can figure out the best way to make sure you are safe and happy. Is there something you’d like to say?"
Julian shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He adjusted his expensive silk tie, shooting a forced, overly bright smile at our daughter. "Maya, sweetie," he interrupted, his tone dripping with a sugary sweetness that made my stomach turn. "Tell the nice judge what we talked about this morning over pancakes. Tell her how much fun we are going to have at Daddy’s new house."