The judge’s gavel slammed down three times, the wood splintering under the force.

“Court is recessed,” she announced, her voice cutting through the panic. “Clear the gallery.”

Two bailiffs pushed the heavy swinging doors open to let the spectators out.

Paramedics rushed into the courtroom, their heavy boots squeaking on the linoleum floor.

I stayed on my knees, holding my mother’s limp head in my lap.

Her skin felt like damp, cold paper.

Daniel stood across the aisle, his face pale but his jaw set tight.

He did not look at my mother; he looked at the black recorder the bailiff still held.

“Step back, ma’am,” a paramedic said, gently nudging my shoulder.

They lifted my mother onto a gurney with practiced, quiet efficiency.

Mason was crying now, a low, wet sound against Lucas’s shoulder.

I grabbed both of my boys by their hands and pulled them close to my sides.

“We are going with her,” I said to the paramedic.

Daniel stepped into my path, his shadow falling over us.

“You are violating the temporary custody order if you take them out of this building, Emily,” he said.