Chapter 8 - The Hearing
Family Courtroom 4B smelled of old paper, damp wool coats, and despair.
Marcus and I sat at the petitioner’s table with Arthur. Clara was not present; my mother-in-law was keeping her at home behind locked doors. Across the central aisle, sitting next to a court-appointed public defender, was Raymond Cruz. He had shaved his stubble and wore a clean white button-down shirt that looked borrowed, but the scorpion tattoo was visible beneath his rolled cuffs.
Judge Vance-Miller, a sharp-featured woman in her late fifties, flipped through the case file with methodical, terrifying speed.
"We are here on Matter 2024-AD-0891," the judge announced, her voice echoing off the high wood paneling. "In re: Infant Female Vance, date of birth November 12. Petition for Kinship Guardianship filed by Marcus and Maya Vance; Counter-petition for Paternity Establishment and Custody filed by Raymond Cruz."
Arthur stood up immediately. "Your Honor, the kinship guardians have provided exemplary care for this child since her emergency discharge. Mr. Cruz has made no financial contributions, demonstrated no prenatal involvement, and approached the Vance home in a threatening manner attempting to solicit financial compensation."
"Objection, Your Honor," Cruz’s attorney countered. "There is zero corroboration of that claim. Mr. Cruz was unaware of the child's birth due to the deceased mother absconding while suffering from substance-induced paranoia. My client has an absolute constitutional right to determine paternity."
Judge Vance-Miller looked over the top of her reading glasses directly at Cruz, then at Marcus and me.
"The law of this commonwealth is unequivocal," Judge Vance-Miller said. "An alleged father has the right to establish biological standing. However, given the circumstances of the mother's demise and the allegations presented, the child will remain in her current kinship placement with Mr. and Mrs. Vance pending laboratory results."
She banged her gavel once. "A buccal swab will be collected from Mr. Cruz today by the court technician. The county health laboratory will expedite the comparative analysis against the infant's cord blood sample retained by Saint Jude’s Memorial. We will reconvene in this courtroom on Friday at nine o’clock for the results. Court is adjourned."
The walk out of the courtroom felt like moving through wet cement. Raymond Cruz caught my eye near the metal detectors. He didn't smile this time; his expression was cold, venomous, and certain.
"See you Friday, sister," he muttered as he passed.
Marcus took a step toward him, but Arthur grabbed his arm with surprising strength. "Don't do it, Marcus. That’s what he wants. Keep your hands in your pockets."
The seventy-two hours between Wednesday afternoon and Friday morning were a living purgatory. I barely ate. I wandered through our house checking on the boys, cleaning surfaces that were already spotless, and holding Clara until my arms were numb.
On Thursday evening, our oldest boy, Leo, walked into the kitchen while I was making school lunches. He stood by the counter, holding his favorite baseball mitt.
"Mom?" he asked. "Is that man going to take Clara away?"
I stopped spreading peanut butter, my heart breaking. "We’re doing everything we can to make sure she stays here, Leo."
Leo looked down at his shoes. "I don't need a new bike for my birthday. If you need money to pay the judge to keep her, you can sell my game console."
May you like
I dropped the knife, knelt down, and pulled my nine-year-old into my arms, sobbing into his flannel shirt. "Oh, baby. No. You don't have to sell anything. It’s not about money. We’re going to fight for her with everything we have."
***
