He didn't try to tell her it was going to be fine. She appreciated that. When they went back in, Judge Aldrich looked at both tables and then looked down at his notes for a moment and then looked up. I've presided over a number of cases involving family separation, disputed abandonment, and contested custody in this territory. He said they are among the most difficult cases this court handles because the stakes are personal and the facts are often disputed.
He paused. In this case, the facts are not substantially disputed. Mr. Hensley left. He took significant resources with him. He left a note that he has confirmed writing.
He made no contact with his wife or children for approximately 4 months until he learned through sources in the territory that they had found stable circumstances. His lawyer's letter followed that discovery. Orson's chair scraped slightly. Briggs put a hand on his arm. The legal standard for abandonment in this territory is clear.
Judge Aldrich continued. The documentation provided by Mrs. Hensley's counsel meets and exceeds that standard. The witness accounts are consistent and credible. The opposing argument that Mr. Hensley's departure represented a temporary and misunderstood attempt to improve his family's situation is not supported by any concrete action taken in the 6 months following his departure. He looked at the table where Orson and Briggs were sitting.
A man who intends to send for his family writes to them, sends what he can, makes contact. The record shows none of that. He looked at Miriam. This court finds in favor of Mrs. Hensley on the question of abandonment. The marriage is legally dissolved on those grounds.
Custody of the minor children resides with their mother. The gavel came down. Miriam sat very still. Beside her, Foss exhaled the single contained exhale of a man who had been fairly confident of the outcome and was allowing himself now to be properly relieved. Across the aisle, she heard Briggs speaking to Orson in a low, rapid voice, the voice of a lawyer managing expectations that had not been met.
She turned and looked at the anteroom door. She thought about six children in there with August and the biscuits. She stood up. Orson was on his feet, too. He looked at her across the distance between the two tables, and for a moment he looked like the man she'd married, not the good version of him.
Not the version she'd spent years trying to believe was the real one, but the actual one, the one who stood at the edge of his own failures and looked for somewhere else to put them. He opened his mouth. Miriam, no, she said, not unkindly, not with heat, just finally. She walked to the anteroom door and opened it and six children looked up at her and she said, "It's done. We're going home.