Chapter 6
We fell into a new routine after that.
My husband showed up at seven every morning. He made breakfast for Bao—pancakes cut into stars, eggs with little smiley faces made of ketchup. He walked him to school, holding his hand. He picked him up at three. They went to the park. They built Lego. They read books.
When I worked night shifts, he stayed at the house. He slept on the couch. He checked on Bao three times a night, just to make sure he was still breathing.
He never pushed me. Never tried to kiss me. Never tried to come into my room. He just… was there. Steady. Quiet. Like he was trying to make up for two years of being gone, one small act at a time.
Bao changed.
The nightmares got less frequent. Once a week, then once every two weeks. He started singing again. He started running through the house, chasing the cat, making messes like a normal five-year-old.
One night, I came home from a shift at two in the morning.
The house was quiet. The lights were off, except for a small lamp in the living room.
My husband was asleep on the couch. A half-finished children’s book was open on his chest. His hand was hanging off the side, almost touching the floor.
On the coffee table, there was a glass of warm milk, just how I like it. Next to it, a sticky note.
Left you some dinner in the fridge. Bao asked if you could read him a story tomorrow night. Sleep well.
I stood there for a long time, looking at him.
I remembered the boy I’d married. The one who’d stayed up with me for three days when Bao was born, who’d held my hand through every contraction, who’d cried when he first held our son. The one who’d held me when my mom died, who’d worked three jobs to put me through nursing school.
Somewhere under all the lies and the fear and the distance… that boy was still there.
I covered him with a blanket. He stirred, but he didn’t wake up.
The bail hearing was two weeks later.
We went to court together. My husband held my hand the whole time. Not because we were back together. Because we both needed it.
My mother-in-law was there, in a yellow jail uniform, her hands cuffed in front of her. She looked smaller. Frailer. But her eyes were still sharp. Still full of hate.
When she saw us, she lunged forward. The guards held her back.
“You traitor!” she screamed at her son. “I gave you everything! I raised you alone! And you choose her over me? You’ll regret this! You’ll both regret this!”
The judge banged his gavel. “Order! One more outburst and you’ll be held in contempt!”
Her lawyer argued she was an elderly woman, a devoted grandmother, that she’d been “misled” by bad legal advice, that she posed no flight risk and no danger to anyone.
Our prosecutor stood up. He laid out every single piece of evidence. The bruise. The voice recording. The fake DNA test. The bank receipt. The hundreds of texts where she’d lied and manipulated and planned to steal a child.
Then my husband testified.
He told the court everything. How she’d called him every night. How she’d planted lies. How he’d been weak, how he’d believed her, how he’d almost lost the two people he loved most in the world because he was too scared to ask the truth.
He looked straight at the judge.
“She is my mother,” he said. “I love her. Or I used to. But she hurt my son. She tried to destroy my family. And if you let her out today… I know, without a single doubt, that she will try again. She will never stop. Not until she takes him from us.”
The judge listened. She took notes. She asked questions.
Then she ruled.
“Bail is denied,” she said. “The defendant is a clear flight risk, and the evidence against her is overwhelming. She will remain in custody until trial. No exceptions.”
My mother-in-law screamed. She cursed. She called the judge every name she could think of. The guards dragged her out of the room.
As she passed us, she locked eyes with me.
“This isn’t over,” she mouthed.
But for the first time, I wasn’t scared.
I held my head high. I didn’t look away.
Because I wasn’t alone anymore.
After the hearing, we walked out of the courthouse into the bright sun.
Bao was with Linh, who’d brought him for ice cream while we were inside. He ran to us, his face sticky with chocolate.
“Did we win?” he asked.
My husband picked him up. He swung him around.
“Yeah, buddy,” he said. “We won.”
Bao laughed. The sound was bright and clear, like wind chimes.
He put one arm around his dad’s neck. He reached the other one out to me.
I took his hand.
May you like
We walked to the car together. All three of us.
For the first time in a very long time, I felt like we might actually be okay.
