Page 70 of Keeping Score

Sucking in a silent breath, I braced myself for the battlefield that was court and walked in with my head held high.

I heard Mr. Reilly suck in a breath at the sight of Mrs. Reilly at the opposite podium.

She looked normal enough. Her mousy brown hair was up in a clip and she wore a neutral expression, not even sparing so much as a glance in our direction.

Did she know she was being selfish, I wondered? Did she know she was tearing a family apart because of a mistake?

She looked like my mom, a little bit.

Not for the first time, I wondered why my mom couldn’t just hold it together, be what my Dad needed her to be for our sake. Why did she have to force him away when he had kids at home who needed him? Why couldn’t she just be a little… less?

Less emotional. Less needy. Less overwhelming to him. Then he might’ve stayed.

I turned away, locking my attention on the judge in front of me. I didn’t know why I was panicking, or why this moment felt so much bigger than myself when I’d done this countless times, but I found myself slipping in and out of focus as thoughts pulsed through my head.

I was grateful for all the years I’d already spent in a courtroom, because muscle memory became my saving grace in getting me through the formality of the opening while I unraveled internally.

The judge peered down at the papers in front of him, then glanced between our two podiums before stating,

“As I understand it, this is a preliminary hearing to determine temporary custody arrangements pending final divorce proceedings. Is that correct?”

His statement was met with murmurs of agreement before we were invited to share our case.

“Given Mr. Reilly’s demonstrated stability and cooperation, we believe joint custody is both fair and in the best interest of the children.”

I heard the words coming out of my mouth, going by the professional script of the courthouse rules even when I felt like screaming the words out instead.

I reminded the judge of Mr. Reilly’s consistent history of employment, his attendance of parenting classes the last few weeks, how he’s kept away from the children per his ex’s unreasonable demands, despite the fact I knew it was tearing him apart to do so.

But it didn’t seem to matter.

Mrs. Reilly’s lawyer was flipping the script. Claiming that the kids were too young, the situation too fresh to have their time split up. He proposed postponing the hearing until further notice.

Which meant, indefinitely. Divorces could drag on for years. I wasn’t going to let Mr. Reilly wait that long, miss significant moments in his kids’ lives while the whole ordeal played out.

“It’s in the best interest of the children to have the stability of remaining in their own home without the constant back and forth.”

“Objection,” I cried. “Your honor, it’s in the best interest of the children to see their father. Mrs. Reilly has placed significant restrictions on Mr. Reilly’s contact with his children.”

“Objection,” her lawyer interjected. “Your honor, Mrs. Reilly is navigating a difficult situation and is doing her best to keep as stable a home environment for her children as possible during this time of upheaval in their lives. I think we can all agree it’s not in the best interest of the children to be shipped back and forth like luggage.”

“Enough,” the judge interjected, tone full of authority earned from years at the head of a courtroom. “This matter is not up for the defenses to determine. It’s up to me, and I’ve made a decision.”

I held my breath.

“Mr. Reilly,” the judge turned his attention toward us. “With the separation being so recent, and due to the matter of your unstable living situation—”

“Your honor, my client has a stable living situation.”

“I’m staying with my brother,” he added quickly, and then, forgetting himself, hurried to add, “your honor.”

“And this is your permanent residency now?”

“Well, no.” Mr. Reilly shuffled on his feet. “It’s just until I can find a place of my own. But the housing market is a wreck, ‘specially in Boston. But you don’t have to worry—my brother would never kick me out until I got on my feet. And the kids love their uncle.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Reilly, but you must know that without a permanent residency, there cannot be any granting of equal custody.”

“Your honor,” I faltered, desperately. “His home life is stable. He’s proven time and again to be reliable. The children have made their desire to see him evident—”