“We’ll see about that,” he said. “You don’t have a permanent address, a job, or a place of your own. I have an apartment, a steady paycheck, and a mother ready to help with the child. The court will sort it out.”
“It will,” Mike said.
Daniel looked at him.
“Nobody asked you.”
“True,” Mike said. “But they’ll ask a lawyer. Get back in the car.”
They left. Slowly, with dignity, not fleeing, making it clear they were choosing to go. The car rolled out through the gate. Mike stood in the middle of the yard watching it go. Then he turned around.
Sarah stood on the porch looking at him. Sophie lifted her head and looked too. Mike walked up to the steps.
“They’ll be back,” he said.
“I know,” Sarah answered.
“We need to see a lawyer. Today or tomorrow.”
She nodded.
He stepped up one stair. They were almost eye level now, face to face. And he said quietly, just for her:
“You’re not handling this alone.”
She looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded. And that nod meant more than agreement.
Sophie looked from one of them to the other. Then rubbed her nose and said:
“I’m hungry.”
Mike laughed, surprising himself.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s eat.”
The lawyer in town saw them the next day. Young man, businesslike, practical, the kind who listened fast and spoke plainly. His name was Andrew Collins. He wrote down everything Sarah told him and asked a few follow-up questions, no extra emotion, just the facts.
Then he said:
“It’s not simple, but it’s not hopeless. Your husband does have housing and employment. That helps him. But there are other factors. If you ever went to urgent care or the ER with injuries and there’s a record, that matters.”
Sarah was quiet a moment.
“Once,” she said. “Two years ago. I told them I fell.”
“The medical record still exists,” the lawyer said. “We can request it. Also witness statements. If there are people who can confirm what happened on the highway, that matters.”
“The truck driver,” Mike said. “Sarah, do you remember anything? Company name, truck number?”
She thought.
