Owen was in the courthouse nursery downstairs, guarded by one of my father’s trusted military friends.

Across the aisle sat Patricia and Courtney.

Patricia wore a tailored black coat, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, her expression cold and superior.

Courtney sat next to her, chewing on her lower lip, her eyes darting around the room.

They did not look at me.

Ethan was not with them; he was seated in the row behind his attorney, looking small and pale.

The judge, a sharp-eyed woman named Henderson, took her seat on the bench.

“We are here regarding the temporary custody of Owen Parker, and the pending assault charges against the defendants,” Judge Henderson said.

Patricia’s attorney, a tall man with silver hair, stood up immediately.

“Your Honor, my client is the grandmother of the infant,” he said. “The mother is mentally unstable and has a history of erratic behavior.”

“That is a lie,” my father muttered under his breath.

I reached out and touched his sleeve to keep him still.

“The mother was hospitalized,” the defense attorney continued, gesturing toward me. “The child is safer in the custody of his father’s family.”