Page 352 of Wicked Brutal

The judge looks over his glasses. “That wasn’t my question.”

The attorney takes a breath. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Yet Mr. O’Toole’s position is that his six-year-old son should remain in temporary custodial limbo while all of that plays out, rather than have custody awarded to his adult sister.”

“His position is that the court should carefully weigh Ms. O’Toole’s present capacity before making a permanent decision.”

The judge leans back. “That I intend to do.”

Arthur sits. My heart does not slow down.

The attorney keeps going. My age. My pregnancy. My lack of income. School. The fact that I’ve never had a home of my own. The trauma I’ve been through. He never once calls me incapable — he’s far too good for that. He just stacks every piece of my life into a neat little pile and waits for the judge to reach the conclusion for him. A child trying to raise a child.

When he finally sits, Arthur doesn’t stand right away. He writes something. Crosses it out.

Then leans toward me. “You okay?”

“No.”

“Good answer.”

I swallow. “Are we fucked?”

“No.” That one doesn’t take him half a second. He caps his pen. “We’re not even close.”

Then he stands.

“Your Honor, opposing counsel has spent considerable time describing what Alison O’Toole has never done.” Arthur walks toward the first stack of exhibits. “She’s never had her own residence. Never had a career. Never run a household without help. All true. And none of it answers the one factual question that actually matters here.” He hands a document to the clerk. “Who has been raising Tobias O’Toole?”

My breath catches.

“This is Tobias’s original pediatric intake paperwork. Jane O’Toole is listed as his mother.” He turns the page. “Alison O’Toole appears directly beneath her, as an additional authorized caregiver and emergency contact.” Another document. “Updated pediatric records. Jane. Alison.” Another. “Dental records. Jane. Alison.”

He keeps going — school enrollment, authorized pickup, emergency-contact authorization — not fast, not dramatic, just one after another until the two names start to sound like a heartbeat. Mom. Me. Mom. Me. Mom. Me.

“Six years of records.” He lays the last one down. “Wherever an institution asked for Tobias’s parent, Jane O’Toole appears. And wherever Jane was permitted to name another person authorized to care for, collect, or make decisions about Tobias — she named Alison.”

Roman’s attorney rises. “Your Honor, Ms. O’Toole was a minor for nearly that entire period.”

“Yes,” Arthur says.

The attorney pauses, thrown that Arthur agreed. “That limits the legal significance of her inclusion.”

“A fourteen-year-old emergency contact doesn’t become a parent, no. No one’s claiming she did.” Arthur picks up one of the forms. “What it establishes is that Jane O’Toole, over and over, chose the same person.”

“Her daughter. A member of the household. Her name on family paperwork is hardly extraordinary.”

“Once isn’t.” Arthur gestures at the stack. “This is.”

The attorney starts to answer, but Arthur keeps going, and his voice sharpens.

“And Alison’s age strengthens the pattern rather than weakening it. She wasn’t fourteen building a custody case. She wasn’t fifteen anticipating litigation. She wasn’t sixteen manufacturing evidence to use after her mother’s death.”

The room goes still.

“These documents exist because a little boy needed a pediatrician. A dentist. A school. Someone allowed to pick him up. And every single time, Jane wrote Alison’s name.”

The judge studies the stack. “Proceed.”