The courthouse felt heavier the next morning.
Not just heavy — suffocating.
Aria barely slept the night before.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Eli's face — scared, confused — slipping away from her.
She and Elias had sat up until two a.m., talking quietly about nothing, too restless to sleep, too terrified to say what they were both thinking: What if we lose?
Now, standing outside the courtroom, Aria felt like her bones might splinter under the pressure.
Elias stood beside her, silent but steady, his jaw tight.
Hutchins approached a manila folder under one arm.
"Judge Harrow will deliver his decision directly," he said quietly. "No new testimony, no arguments. He'll speak, then file the order."
Aria nodded, barely trusting herself to breathe.
Eli was with a social worker upstairs, coloring in a corner of the waiting room.
They hadn't let him into the courtroom today.
Maybe that was for the best.
When the doors opened, Aria's stomach twisted violently.
It was time.
Inside, everyone took their seats.
Mariah wasn't there — her presence wasn't legally required.
But Dana Kershaw was, sitting at her table with that cool, sharp smile.
Judge Harrow entered, and the room stood.
He settled at the bench, adjusted his glasses, and sighed.
It wasn't a good sign.
Aria's heart dropped into her stomach.
"I have reviewed the testimony, evidence, and case history carefully," he began. His voice was low, grave. "This is not a simple case. There are no perfect parties here."
Aria gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white.
"In evaluating custody cases," Harrow continued, "our priority must be the best interests of the child, not the convenience or desires of the adults involved."
Another pause.
Another twist of the knife.
"I find that Ms. West has provided a loving, nurturing home for her son. However, concerns about emotional stability and the lingering effects of past trauma cannot be ignored."
Aria's breath hitched.
She couldn't tell if this was good or bad.
Judge Harrow turned to Elias.
"Mr. West's return to his son's life is commendable. His efforts to rebuild trust are apparent. But the court cannot overlook his history of abandonment, even if it was not motivated by malice."
Aria closed her eyes.
It was slipping away. She could feel it.
"The court has considered all options presented. Foster care is not in the child's best interest at this time."
Relief exploded through Aria — but only for a second.
"However," the judge said, his voice turning harder, "continuing the current arrangement without significant oversight would be negligent."
He turned to Hutchins.
"Effective immediately, temporary custody of Eli West will remain with Ms. Aria West under court supervision."
Aria's breath came in gasps she tried to control.
Supervision?
What did that mean?
"Mr. Elias West will have scheduled visitation under the supervision of a family services officer for a probationary period of six months."
Aria blinked, stunned.
Supervised visits?
For Elias?
She caught Elias's face — tight, unreadable.
The judge continued, his voice like a hammer:
"Additionally, Ms. West must complete an approved parenting support program focused on emotional resilience within ninety days."
Aria nodded blindly.
Whatever it took. She would do whatever it took.
"The court will reconvene in six months to review compliance and progress."
He rapped the gavel once.
"Next case."
And just like that, it was over.
Aria stumbled into the hallway.
She leaned against the wall, trying to breathe.
Elias was beside her, shoulders tense, jaw locked.
They didn't speak for a long time.
Finally, Hutchins cleared his throat.
"Not a perfect victory," he said. "But a victory."
Aria gave a shaky laugh.
"Feels more like a draw."
"You kept custody," Hutchins said firmly. "Eli stays home. That's what matters."
"But supervised visitation?" Elias asked bitterly. "Like I'm some danger?"
"You aren't," Hutchins said. "But you have a past. Courts are conservative about past behavior, especially with minors. This is standard procedure. You play by the rules, show consistency, and we ask for a review after ninety days instead of six months."
Elias gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Play by the rules," he muttered.
Aria touched his arm.
"You can do this," she said softly. "We both can."
He looked at her, the anger in his eyes fading into something heavier — something like shame.
"I just wanted to come home," he said hoarsely.
"I know," she whispered.
For a long moment, they just stood there, absorbing the bruises they'd taken.
Then Hutchins snapped his folder shut.
"Take today. Breathe. Then we get to work."
Later, after Eli was returned to her care, Aria sat in the living room watching him build a Lego tower.
He didn't know the terms.
He didn't understand the fight raging over his little world.
He just smiled up at her, proudly holding out his crooked tower.
"Look, Mommy! It's a castle!"
Aria blinked back tears and smiled.
"It's beautiful, baby."
Elias sat across the room, silent.
The supervised visit schedule will start tomorrow.
Every Tuesday and Friday afternoon, two hours at the family services building.
Under the eye of a stranger.
It wasn't what he deserved.
But it was what they had.
For now.
That night, Aria couldn't sleep.
She kept thinking about the judge's words — emotional resilience. Supervised parenting.
Every flaw she thought she could hide had been dragged into the light.
Every mistake.
Every scar.
She sat at the kitchen table, staring at the court paperwork, when Elias came in.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just sat across from her.
Finally, he spoke.
"I get it."
She looked up.
He shrugged, looking away.
"I wasn't there when he needed me. I can't just show up now and expect people to trust me."
"You're here now," Aria said.
"Not enough," he said. "Not yet."
He looked at her, raw and unguarded.
"I'm gonna do the visits. Follow the rules. Prove to them — prove to you — that I'm not walking away again."
Aria swallowed hard.
"I never wanted you to be perfect, Elias," she whispered. "I just wanted you to stay."
He reached across the table, covering her hand with his.
"I'm staying," he said.
"I'm not running again."
For the first time that day, Aria believed him.
The weeks that followed were brutal.
The first supervised visit was stiff and awkward.
A woman named Ms. Devlin sat in the corner, clipboard in hand, pretending not to listen but writing down everything.
Eli seemed confused at first — why was Daddy acting weird? Why was there a stranger in the room?
But Elias powered through.
He built Legos. He played board games.
He read stories until Eli was laughing again.
Ms. Devlin didn't smile, but she checked off the boxes.
Aria sat in the parking lot those days, hands shaking, praying it was enough.
After every visit, Elias would find her car.
Sit with her for a few minutes.
They didn't always talk.
Sometimes they just breathed in the same air.
Sometimes that was all they could manage.
But every day, it got a little easier.
A little more real.
On Friday, after the visit, Elias climbed into her passenger seat.
He was quiet for a long moment, then said:
"You know... I never thought I'd want something so boring as a parenting plan and a condo and driving a kid to school."
He smiled, small and real.
"But now it's all I want."
Aria turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming.
"Good," she said, voice tight with emotion. "Because that's what Eli needs."
He nodded.
Then, surprising her, he reached over and linked their pinkies — the way they used to when they were young and stupid and believed in forever.
"One day at a time," he said.
She squeezed his finger back.
"One day at a time."
Outside the window, the world kept moving.
Kids spilled out of the community center down the block.
A couple walked past holding hands.
Normal life.
Aria watched it all and realized something:
They weren't normal.
They were a mess.
But they were a family.
A broken, bruised, stubborn family.
And they weren't giving up.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Not ever.