Sarah’s lawyer objected, but the damage was done.
The judge called Ethan into chambers for a private interview. I wasn’t allowed in, but the conversation was recorded.
The judge’s voice was gentle. “Ethan, do you want a relationship with your biological mother?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me why?”
“Because she didn’t come back because she changed,” Ethan said. “She came back because I’m worth money now. She saw the video. She saw the gallery offers. She doesn’t want me. She wants what I can give her.”
“How do you feel about your grandmother?”
“She’s the only parent I’ve ever had,” Ethan said without hesitation. “She sold everything to keep me alive. She sat with me through every treatment. She didn’t have to do any of that. But she did because she loves me.”
“If the court grants your mother visitation, how would you feel?”
“I’d go if I had to,” Ethan said, “but I wouldn’t trust her, and I wouldn’t call her ‘Mom.’”
The judge took two hours to deliberate.
When we returned, her face was unreadable.
“I’ve reviewed the evidence. Miss Morrison, your petition to restore parental rights is denied. Your lawsuit claiming parental alienation is denied. However, I am granting supervised visitation—two hours per week for six months. At the end of that period, we will reconvene based on the child’s well-being and your conduct.”
Sarah’s face lit up. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was a door.
Outside the courtroom, she stopped in the hallway and looked at me.
“Six months,” she said, smirking. “That’s all I need.”
Ms. Callahan pulled me aside. “The boy just needs to be himself. She’ll hang herself.”
I shook my head. “What if she manipulates him?”
Ms. Callahan squeezed my hand. “You can’t manipulate someone who sees right through you.”
But I wasn’t sure.
I wasn’t sure at all.
They met every Wednesday at four o’clock. A court-appointed supervisor sat in the corner.
For three months, Ethan gave Sarah exactly what she deserved: nothing.
The first visit was in a small room at a family services office. Beige walls. A table. Two chairs. The supervisor introduced herself and sat with a clipboard, taking notes.
Sarah walked in wearing designer jeans and a smile that looked rehearsed. She opened her arms.
“Ethan, baby—”
Ethan stood by the wall, sketchbook under his arm. He didn’t move.
“I don’t want a hug.”
Sarah’s smile faltered. “Okay. That’s okay. We can just talk.”
Ethan sat at the table. Sarah sat across from him.
For two hours, she tried. She asked about school, about his art, about his favorite foods. Ethan answered in one or two words, then went back to sketching.
The supervisor wrote everything down.
When the two hours ended, Sarah stood close to tears. “I’ll see you next week.”
Ethan didn’t look up. “If I have to.”
By the third visit, Sarah was getting impatient. She walked in and sat down without the fake warmth.
“So,” she said, leaning forward. “I heard one of your paintings sold for seventy thousand dollars.”
Ethan looked up. “Yeah.”
“That’s incredible,” Sarah said quickly. “What are you going to do with the money?”
“Pay Grandma back.”
Sarah blinked. “Pay her back?”
“She spent over four hundred thousand dollars keeping me alive while you were in Cabo with your boyfriend,” Ethan said evenly. “I owe her.”
The supervisor’s pen moved faster.
Sarah’s face went red. “That’s not fair. I wasn’t in a good place.”
“You were in Cabo,” Ethan said flatly. “I checked your social media. You were posting pictures of the beach while I was getting transfusions.”
Sarah opened her mouth, then closed it.
She spent the rest of the visit in silence.
By the fifth visit, she snapped.
“You know what?” Sarah said, voice rising. “You’re being a brat. I’m trying here. I’ve been coming every week. I’ve been patient, and you’re acting like I’m nothing.”
Ethan looked at her, calm. “You are nothing to me.”
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