She tapped her pen lightly. “We will reconvene once that information is reviewed.”
And just like that, it was done.
Not everything.
But enough.
Outside the courtroom, the air felt warmer. Or maybe it was just me.
Scott came out a few minutes later, faster than I expected. He walked straight toward me. No hesitation this time.
“Dana,” he said.
I turned. “What?”
“What did you do?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t steady either.
I looked at him for a second. At the man who had stood in our kitchen weeks earlier, so sure of himself, so certain I had nothing.
“I didn’t do anything,” I said.
He frowned. “Yes, you did.”
I shook my head slightly. “I just stopped ignoring things.”
He stared at me like he was trying to understand something he couldn’t quite reach. Then he looked away.
I watched him go, not triumphant, not angry, just aware, because for the first time he knew this wasn’t going to go his way.
Not anymore.
The house felt different the first morning after court. Not dramatically. Nothing had physically changed. Same cabinets, same floor, same quiet hum of the refrigerator.
But the air, it didn’t feel tight anymore.
I stood at the kitchen sink, coffee in my hand, watching the backyard through the window. The grass was still damp from overnight frost. The porch light was still on. I must have forgotten to turn it off.
Small things. Normal things.
And for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t bracing for something.
Scott didn’t call that morning. That was new. Usually after anything important, he’d reach out, try to control the narrative, explain things in a way that made him sound reasonable.
There was none of that. Just silence.
I didn’t reach out either.
I didn’t need to.
Ellie came downstairs around eight, hair pulled back, hoodie on, phone in her hand like always. She stopped when she saw me.
“Morning,” I said.
“Morning.”
She opened the fridge, grabbed orange juice, then leaned against the counter. For a second, I thought she might go back upstairs without saying anything.
But she didn’t.
She stayed.
“I didn’t know,” she said quietly.
I turned toward her. “Know what?”
She swallowed. “About the money or any of that.”
I nodded slowly. “I figured.”
She looked down at her glass. “I thought… I don’t know. I thought Dad was just giving me more freedom.”
I didn’t rush to answer. “I get why that sounded good,” I said.
She let out a small breath. “I feel stupid.”
“You’re not,” I said. “You’re sixteen.”
That got a faint smile out of her. Small but real.
She looked at me again. “Are we staying?” she asked.
“For now,” I said. “Yeah.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
And just like that, something eased. Not fixed, but better.