Chapter 5
The restraining order hearing was two weeks later.
I was nervous.
More nervous than I’d been before any business deal in my life.
I held Lily’s hand in one hand, Mia’s in the other, as we sat in the hallway outside the courtroom.
Sarah was next to me, her hand on my shoulder.
Mark was going over his notes, his face serious.
Then the doors opened.
Olivia walked out.
She was wearing a plain black dress, no makeup, her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
She had fake tears running down her face.
Her lawyer was next to her, a slick guy in a $5,000 suit.
Olivia saw me.
Her face twisted for half a second.
Then she started crying harder, leaning on her lawyer’s arm.
“Look what he did to me,” she sobbed, loud enough for everyone in the hallway to hear. “I loved those girls like they were my own. And he’s turning them against me. He’s a monster.”
I didn’t say anything.
I just pulled the girls a little closer.
The judge called us in.
The hearing lasted three hours.
Olivia’s lawyer went first.
He painted me as a workaholic monster who ignored his kids, who’d married Olivia and then left her alone to raise two difficult, unruly girls by herself.
He said Olivia had done everything she could.
That the girls were jealous of her, that they’d made up the whole moldy bread story to get her in trouble.
That the life insurance policy was a gift I’d gotten for her, that I’d signed it myself.
Then it was our turn.
Mark called me first.
I told the judge everything.
About coming home early.
About finding the girls with the moldy bread.
About the sequined gown, the champagne, the designer boxes.
About the $127,000 in charges on my card.
About the life insurance policy.
Then it was Lily’s turn.
The judge had a child psychologist come in, a nice woman named Dr. Hale, to sit with Lily while she testified.
Lily was small in the witness chair.
Her feet didn’t touch the floor.
She held Dr. Hale’s hand tight.
She spoke soft, but clear.
She told the judge about the moldy bread.
About being locked in her room for spilling juice.
About Olivia saying she’d have to live in a cardboard box when I died.
Then she pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket.
It was a drawing.
Crayon.
Two little girls crying next to a brown cardboard box.
Olivia, drawn with a big angry mouth, standing over them.
The judge leaned forward.
He looked at the drawing for a long time.
Then he looked at Olivia.
His face was hard.
Olivia’s lawyer tried to object.
Said the drawing was hearsay.
Said Lily had been coached.
The judge overruled him.
When the hearing was over, the judge didn’t even take five minutes to make his decision.
He granted the permanent restraining order.
Olivia was to have no contact whatsoever with me, with Lily, with Mia.
No phone calls.
No texts.
No coming within 100 yards of our house, their school, anywhere we might be.
He also ordered a full child protective services investigation.
And he set the divorce trial for six weeks later.
As we walked out of the courtroom, Olivia tried to run at us.
“You little liar!” she screamed at Lily. “I’ll get you for this! You’ll pay!”
Two bailiffs grabbed her before she got within ten feet.
She was still screaming as they dragged her away.
Lily buried her face in my side.
I picked her up, held her tight.
Mia grabbed my leg, hiding her face.
“It’s over,” I said, kissing the top of Lily’s head. “She can’t hurt you anymore. Ever.”
We walked out into the bright January sun.
May you like
It was cold.
But for the first time in months, I felt warm.
