“We are filing an emergency stay immediately.”

The lawyer shrugged. “The order is active now.”

“Then we are going to see Judge Miller,” Margaret said, her voice hard as steel.

“Right now.”

Twenty minutes later, we were in a small, wood-panelled courtroom on the fourth floor of the county courthouse.

The air smelled of old paper and damp wool.

Grant sat at the defense table.

His suit was immaculate, but his skin looked grey under the fluorescent lights.

Vanessa sat next to him, her fingers twitching over her designer handbag.

She wouldn’t look at me.

Judge Miller, an elderly woman with sharp grey eyes, sat behind the bench.

“Let us be clear,” the judge said, looking down at us over her glasses.

“I do not appreciate being dragged into court at five o’clock on a rainy Tuesday.”

“But I will not have infants moved from an ICU if there is any medical risk.”

Grant stood up, smoothing his tie.

“Your Honor, my wife is mentally unstable due to her traumatic delivery.”

“I am merely trying to protect my children from her erratic behavior.”