The verdict

 The tension in the courtroom was suffocating.

Andrea's fingers curled tightly around Doc’s, even as his thumb slowly stroked over her knuckles, trying to anchor them both. Kay sat behind them, rigid, unreadable, but present—because she always showed up, even if it hurt. Joe was off to the side with Anthony, who was too young to understand why everyone was dressed in uncomfortable clothes and no one was smiling.

The judge—gray-haired, glasses low on his nose—shuffled the papers in front of him like they didn’t contain the fate of a child. Of a family.

Andrea could barely breathe.

“After reviewing the testimonies, statements, psychological evaluations, and documented evidence,” the judge began, his voice low and neutral, “it is clear this situation is deeply complex and emotionally charged.”

Doc sat up straighter. Andrea held tighter to his hand.

“Tio Garcia is the biological father of the minor child, Anthony. He has a legal right to seek custody or visitation, provided it serves the child’s best interest.”

Andrea felt her stomach clench. Even the baby shifted uneasily.

“However,” the judge continued, “based on the pattern of behavior exhibited prior to this hearing—including acts of neglect, manipulation, and an absence of consistent effort to reestablish a relationship with the child—I do not find Mr. Garcia to be a fit custodial parent.”

Andrea’s breath hitched.

“Therefore, primary physical and legal custody will remain with Ms. Reyes. Mr. Garcia’s freedom will be reviewed pending further psychological counseling and continued evaluation over a six-month period.”

She didn’t hear anything after that. Not really. Just the sharp exhale from Doc and the way his shoulders relaxed against her. Her lawyer patted her arm. Somewhere, Tio slammed a hand down on a table.

But in that moment, all she could do was turn toward Doc. His eyes were glassy, but he didn’t cry. He just leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering there, as though he could soak in the relief and the pain at once.

They walked out of the courthouse together, a fragile sense of peace beginning to bloom.

In the parking lot, Doc stopped her. “You did it,” he said softly.

“No,” Andrea replied. “We did it.”

He looked at her belly, at the child growing inside—the one they hadn’t expected but already loved. “You’re still choosing me?” he asked, voice thick.

She reached up, cupping his face. “Every single time.”