loves it,” I said. “Not because he doesn’t have anything else.”
EzoicMr. Carroway smiled politely.
“Your Honor,” he said, “with respect, a child’s favorite shirt is no excuse for sending him to school in visibly soiled clothing. Mrs. Bellamy’s explanation only confirms our concern. She is unable to keep up with her son’s basic needs.”
The judge wrote something on her notepad. My stomach dropped.
I sat back down. I opened my folder. I looked at all the papers inside, the bank statements and receipts and printed text messages, and
I realized none of them explained a stained shirt.
EzoicHow do you prove to a stranger that you love your child? How do you prove you scrubbed his shoes with a toothbrush at midnight?
Without a lawyer to stand up and fight for me, I was afraid Grant’s money was going to win.
Then I felt Nolan move beside me.
He’d been quiet all morning. He’d sat with his hands folded in his lap while the adults talked about him like he wasn’t there. When the photograph went up, he’d
hung his head.
EzoicBut now he was sitting up straight.
He was looking at the judge. His face had changed. The embarrassment was gone. In its place was something I’d never seen on him before. Something steady and determined.
He looked like my mother does right before she says something nobody wants to hear.
Slowly, he reached for the front of his shirt.
His fingers went to the tiny silver moon above the pocket. He pressed on it. Then he reached up underneath the hem, on the inside, feeling for
