Hazel studied the pictures.
“Where would you be?” she asked.
“Here.”
She handed them back.
“Then I don’t want it.”
A few days later, Brandon called.
I put the phone on speaker.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “Excited about your new room?”
Hazel stared at the table.
“What’s my favorite color?”
He laughed.
“What?”
“My favorite color.”
“Pink?”
“Green.”
“Well, we can paint your room green.”
She frowned.
“What’s my dog’s name?”
“You have a dog?”
“No.”
Brandon went quiet.
Hazel pushed the phone toward me.
“I don’t want to talk anymore.”
Afterward, she asked whether she had to answer his calls.
I told her she could decide.
But I worried her refusal might somehow be used against us.
As the hearing approached, Brandon became more aggressive.
He said his attorney would prove Hazel deserved a better life.
“You’re getting older, Margaret.”
“I know how old I am.”
“She’ll need things you can’t provide.”
“She needs people who love her.”
“Love doesn’t pay bills.”
I looked at the peeling paint beside our kitchen window.
He knew where to hurt me.
I was 75 now.
Some mornings, getting out of bed took longer than it used to.
I worried about my health and whether Hazel might eventually resent our modest life.
One evening, I found her studying Brandon’s photographs.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
She shrugged.
“It’s pretty.”
“There’s nothing wrong with liking nice things.”
She looked at me.
“Would you be sad if I went there?”
“I’d miss you terribly.”
She climbed into my lap.
“Then I’m staying.”
I wanted to believe it would be that simple.
The week before the hearing, Brandon came again.
This time, he brought his wife, Caroline.
She was elegantly dressed and spoke gently to Hazel.
“I’ve heard so much about you.”
Hazel looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Your father says you’re wonderful at school.”
Hazel glanced at Brandon.
Caroline continued.
“He told me how much he’s missed you.”
I felt angry.
Brandon hadn’t mentioned Hazel once in 11 years.
But I stayed quiet.
Caroline showed Hazel photographs of her new bedroom.
Hazel shook her head.
“I’m happy here.”
Caroline looked confused.
“Your father said you wanted to live with us.”
“I don’t.”
Brandon interrupted.
“She’s nervous. It’s a big change.”
Caroline smiled sympathetically.
“Of course.”
Then Brandon asked me to make coffee.
I sent Hazel to her room while we talked.
I didn’t realize she’d come back into the hallway.
Caroline stepped outside to take a phone call.
Brandon remained in the kitchen.
Then his phone rang.
He answered quietly.
I stepped into the pantry.
“No, she doesn’t want to come.”
A pause.
“Caroline doesn’t know that.”
Another pause.
“I told her Margaret kept us apart.”
I froze.
Brandon lowered his voice.
“Look, if Caroline finds out I walked away, everything changes.”
I stepped back into the kitchen.
He immediately ended the call.
“Who were you talking to?”
“My attorney.”
“What did you mean about me keeping you apart?”
He pocketed his phone.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Then he left.
I stood there, furious.
He’d told his wife I was responsible for their separation.
I wanted to confront Caroline.
But I had no proof of what I’d heard.
That evening, Hazel was unusually quiet.
“Are you worried about the hearing?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Whatever happens, none of this is your fault.”
She looked at me.
“Grandma, did Dad ever write to us?”
I was startled.
“Why?”
“Just wondering.”
I hesitated.
“He wrote once, a long time ago.”
“What did he say?”
I glanced toward the cabinet containing Emily’s belongings.
“Things I wish he hadn’t said.”
Hazel followed my gaze.
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see it?”
I shook my head.
“Not tonight, sweetheart.”
She looked disappointed.
I thought she was simply curious.
I didn’t understand why the letter suddenly mattered.
Two days before the hearing, Hazel entered my bedroom carrying Emily’s photograph.
“Was Mom scared when I was born?”
“A little. Most new mothers are.”
“Did she love me?”
“More than anything.”
Hazel studied the picture.
“Would she have wanted me to stay with you?”
“Your mother trusted me. But she’d want you safe and happy.”
Hazel nodded.
Then she asked something heartbreaking.
“Do you think Dad loves me?”
I struggled.
“I don’t know what he feels.”
She looked down.
“I wish he’d just tell the truth.”
I hugged her.
“So do I.”
That night, I heard her moving around in her bedroom.
When I checked, she was putting papers into her backpack.
“Homework?”
“Something for tomorrow.”
I assumed she meant school.
I didn’t ask.
The morning of the hearing, Hazel wore her favorite green sweater.
I wore my old blue dress.
We took the bus because I couldn’t afford a cab.
Hazel held my hand the entire way.
At the courthouse, Brandon waited beside his attorney.
Caroline stood nearby.
She smiled at Hazel.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
Hazel nodded.
Brandon glanced at my dress.
“Ready to get this over with?”
I ignored him.
Inside, the courtroom seemed enormous.
The judge listened as Brandon’s attorney described his financial stability.
His beautiful home.
His marriage.
His ability to provide opportunities I couldn’t.
Then he showed photographs.
A swimming pool.
A large bedroom.
A spotless kitchen.
I looked down at my hands.
Our house had peeling paint and worn furniture.
I suddenly felt ashamed.
Then I looked at Hazel.
She was watching me, not the photographs.
Brandon’s attorney argued that Hazel deserved to live with her biological father.
He acknowledged Brandon’s absence but said he’d matured.
The judge asked Brandon several questions.
“How often have you visited Hazel during the past 11 years?”
