“Why me?” I asked softly.
“Because you keep saying maybe it’s for the best. And it’s not.”
Then she lowered her eyes again, and the conversation was over.
The hearing was scheduled six weeks later.
That morning, Emma came downstairs already dressed, her hair neatly tied back, carrying her small navy backpack.
“You’re staying with Aunt Claire today,” I reminded her.
She shook her head. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, honey. Court isn’t a place for kids.”
“I need to be there.”
Her tone stopped me. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t pleading. It was certain.
I crouched in front of her. “Emma, this is adult business.”
Her mouth tightened. “That’s the problem. Adults keep saying that.”
I should have pressed her. I should have asked more questions. But I was exhausted, raw, and running on nerves. In the end, I let her come, telling myself she would sit quietly in the back for an hour and then go with Claire afterward.
