On the screen, my face was pale, my fingers gripping the doorframe as he ignored my pleas.

“We are going to make sure the judge sees every second of this,” Clara said.

Ten minutes later, we walked into the courtroom.

The room smelled of lemon polish and old paper, the air conditioning humming a low, irritating note.

Landon sat at the petitioner’s table next to his mother, Patricia.

He wore a linen suit that looked slightly wrinkled, his face sporting a deep, red sunburn from his days on the beach.

Patricia sat perfectly straight, her hands clasped over a designer handbag, her eyes refusing to meet mine.

“All rise,” the bailiff called out as Judge Sandra Vance took the bench.

The judge adjusted her glasses and looked down at the thick folders in front of her.

“We are here on an emergency petition for temporary custody of Rowan Bellamy, a minor child,” Judge Vance began.

Patricia’s attorney stood up, smoothing his tie.

“Your Honor, we have submitted evidence of the mother’s unstable mental history,” Vance said.