The judge placed one page beside another.
“Mr.
Carter, are any of these signatures yours?”
Logan cleared his throat.
“I’m not saying she never takes him to school things.”
Again, Judge Elwood waited.
“No,” Logan finally said.
Mr.
Brackley stepped in.
“The issue before the court is not whether the mother performs isolated parental tasks.
The issue is whether her financial position allows her to provide a stable environment.”
There was that word again.
Stable.
I had started to hate it.
Judge Elwood picked up the photograph of Crew outside school.
“The shirt,” he said.
“You described it as evidence of a pattern.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“What other clothing evidence do you have?”
Mr.
Brackley opened one folder, then another.
“There have been observations.”
“By whom?”
“My client.”
Judge Elwood looked at Logan.
Logan’s confidence flickered.
The judge held up the photograph.
“Did you take this?”
“No.
Someone sent it to me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t remember.”
Mr.
Brackley shifted.
I stared at Logan.
All morning, that photograph had felt enormous.
Official.
Damning.
Now it was exactly what it had always been: one picture of a seven-year-old with blueberry jam on his shirt.
Judge Elwood turned to Crew.
“Why did you write that you pull your shirt when you’re scared?”
Crew glanced back at me.
I wanted to protect him from answering.
But the judge’s voice was gentle.
Crew pinched the collar between two fingers.
“I do this.”
He pulled it toward his mouth.
The stretched fabric from the photograph suddenly had an explanation everyone in the room could see.
“What makes you scared?” the judge asked.
Crew hesitated.
Logan leaned forward.
I saw it happen.
Just a movement.
Just a father shifting in a chair.
But Crew noticed too.
His hand dropped from the collar.
