I clutched the papers to my chest, feeling the walls closing in on me once again.

Just then, the glass doors of the waiting room slid open.

A tall man in a dark blue suit walked in, holding a leather briefcase.

He looked around the lobby, his eyes locking onto me.

He began walking toward us, his steps echoing on the tile floor, and pulled a phone from his pocket as it began to ring.

The man stopped three feet away from us and slid his phone into his breast pocket.

“Marissa Bellamy?” he asked, his voice flat and clinical.

“Yes,” I said, my hand tightening on the papers.

“I am Richard Vance, counsel for Patricia and Landon Bellamy,” he said, extending a second envelope toward me.

“You have been formally served with notice for an emergency custody hearing, scheduled for nine o’clock tomorrow morning at the county courthouse.”

Arthur stepped between us, his broad shoulders blocking the lawyer.

“She has the papers,” Arthur said. “You can leave now.”

Vance did not flinch, merely adjusting his briefcase before turning on his heel and walking out of the hospital lobby.