She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. I love you, Marcus said. More than anything, more than everything, that's never going to change. I love you, too, Daddy. They finished their ice cream in silence, holding hands across the table like survivors clinging to wreckage in a storm.
Sunday was for preparation. Mr. Warren came by the apartment in the afternoon to go over Marcus' testimony one more time. He was a tired-looking man in his 50s with gray hair and kind eyes, a public defender who'd seen too many cases like this and won too few of them. "Tell me again about the morning routine," Mr. Warren said, flipping through his notes. Marcus took a deep breath.
"I wake up at 5:30, make Lily breakfast, usually oatmeal or eggs. pack her lunch, help her get dressed, walk her to school by 7:45, then head to the auto shop for my 8:00 shift. And after school, Mrs. Patterson picks her up most days when I'm working. If I have the evening shift at the diner, I see Lily for about an hour between jobs. I help her with homework, make sure she eats dinner. And when do you get home at night?
Marcus hesitated. This was the part Victoria's lawyer would hammer. usually around midnight, sometimes later. Mr. Warren nodded slowly and Lily is asleep by then. Bye. Yes.
So, on a typical day, you see your daughter for what? 2 hours? 3. Marcus's jaw tightened. It's not about quantity.
I know that. You know that. Mr. Warren set down his notepad. But the judge might not see it that way. Victoria's lawyer is going to paint a picture of an absent father too busy working to actually parent.
I'm working to provide for her. I know. Mr. Warren held up a hand. I'm on your side, Marcus. But I need you to understand what we're walking into.
Victoria has resources we don't have. Her lawyer is going to be polished, professional, and ruthless. We need to be prepared. Marcus leaned back in his chair, exhaustion settling into his bones. So, what do I do?
You tell the truth. You show them who you are, not who their paperwork says you are. Mr. Warren leaned forward. You're a good father, Marcus. I've seen enough bad ones to know the difference.
Now, we just need to make the judge see it, too. After Mr. Warren left, Marcus sat alone in the quiet apartment. Lily was at a friend's house, a playdate arranged specifically to keep her distracted, and the silence was oppressive. He looked around at the walls he'd tried so hard to make into a home. Lily's drawings taped to the refrigerator, the shelf of secondhand books they read together every night.
The framed photo on the window sill, Marcus and Lily at the park last summer, both of them laughing at something he couldn't remember. This was his life. small and struggling, but his theirs. And in less than 24 hours, a stranger in a black robe was going to decide if it was good enough. Marcus closed his eyes and thought about the twins from the storm. About their father who had everything except what mattered, about Sophie's words.
I hope the judge sees what we see. He hoped so, too. God, he hoped so. Marcus didn't sleep Sunday night, either. He lay on the couch staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of Lily breathing in the next room.