The next morning, the courthouse felt colder.
Aria pulled her jacket tighter as she climbed the stone steps. Her stomach twisted itself into knots.
Today was important.
Today the custody evaluator would testify.
And Hutchins had warned her — this could go either way.
Inside, the courtroom buzzed with low voices and shuffling papers. The judge's bench stood empty for now, but the air was heavy with anticipation.
Elias was already there, sitting at their table.
He glanced up when Aria entered, his eyes sharp, alert. He didn't smile.
This wasn't a day for smiling.
She slid into the chair beside him.
"You ready?" he asked under his breath.
"No," she said honestly.
"Good. It means you're thinking."
She gave him a look.
Hutchins leaned over from the other side of the table.
"Today's not about being perfect," he murmured. "It's about being real. Remember that."
Aria nodded tightly.
The bailiff called the room to order. The judge entered, stern-faced and unreadable.
And then — it began.
The evaluator was a middle-aged man with gray hair and sharp eyes.
He looked like someone who forgot how to smile twenty years ago.
The prosecutor called him first.
"Dr. Reynolds, you conducted a full evaluation of the family involved in this case?"
"Yes."
"And what methods did you use?"
"Home visits, interviews with the parents individually and together, review of educational and medical records, and psychological assessments."
Aria twisted her hands together in her lap.
"And what are your general findings?"
Dr. Reynolds cleared his throat.
"Both parents are loving. Both provide a stable emotional environment for the child."
Aria exhaled quietly.
"But," Reynolds continued, "there are concerns regarding long-term stability and communication between the parents."
The prosecutor smiled.
"Specifically?"
"Historically poor communication. Residual hostility. Differing parenting philosophies."
Aria wanted to sink into the floor.
The prosecutor leaned closer.
"Would you recommend full custody to one parent over the other?"
"No," Reynolds said immediately. "My professional recommendation is joint legal and physical custody, with a detailed parenting plan monitored initially by a family services liaison."
The prosecutor's face flickered with frustration.
She wanted him to lean one way or the other.
"And if such a plan fails?"
Reynolds shrugged.
"Then a modification would be necessary. But as it stands, both parents are equally fit."
Equally fit.
Aria caught Elias's eye.
He gave a tiny nod.
It wasn't a victory.
But it wasn't a loss either.
During the Blackwood examination, Hutchins rose, adjusting his sleeves slowly — buying Aria and Elias time to breathe.
"Dr. Reynolds," he said smoothly, "you said 'residual hostility.' Would you characterize that hostility as impacting the child directly?"
Reynolds shook his head.
"No."
"Would you say the child has expressed fear, anxiety, or distress related to his parents' conflict?"
"No."
Hutchins nodded as if this was exactly what he expected.
"In your expert opinion, what's the likelihood that these two individuals, given proper support, could maintain a healthy co-parenting relationship?"
Reynolds tapped his pen against the witness stand thoughtfully.
"Moderately high. They both exhibit a strong motivation to prioritize the child's needs."
"Thank you," Hutchins said. He sat back down.
Aria's heart thumped painfully against her ribs.
It was good.
It wasn't perfect, but it was good.
The judge called a short recess.
Outside the courtroom, Aria leaned against a pillar, staring blindly at the tiled floor.
Elias appeared beside her, arms folded.
"You alright?"
"No."
"Yeah. Me neither."
They stood in silence for a minute.
Then Elias said, "No matter what happens, you know we're going to be fine, right?"
"You don't know that," Aria whispered.
He looked at her — hard, serious.
"I do. Because losing in court doesn't mean losing Eli. We'll never lose him. No matter how messy it gets."
Her eyes filled with sudden, stupid tears.
"How can you be so sure?"
He shrugged.
"Because we're stubborn as hell."
That pulled a laugh out of her, shaky and broken, but real.
After recess, it got worse.
The prosecutor called her final witness — Elias's ex-girlfriend.
Aria froze in her seat.
The woman walked confidently to the stand, tall, and polished, a tight smile on her lips.
Aria remembered her vaguely — the woman Elias had briefly dated during their separation.
She remembered Eli mentioning her name once, offhandedly.
She'd thought it didn't matter she was wrong.
The prosecutor's voice rang out sharply.
"Miss Harper, can you describe your experience witnessing Mr. Blackwood's parenting?"
Miss Harper sat a little straighter.
"Yes. I dated Elias Blackwood for about six months. During that time, I witnessed his interactions with his son several times."
"And what did you observe?"
Miss Harper pursed her lips.
"Elias loves his son. There's no question about that. But he was... inconsistent. Distracted. Sometimes he'd forget Eli's soccer practices, or he'd get the time wrong for school events."
Aria felt the air leave her lungs.
The prosecutor smiled like a cat.
"So you would describe him as unreliable?"
"At times, yes."
Elias's jaw flexed, but he said nothing.
"And do you believe that instability would be harmful long-term?"
"Potentially, yes."
The prosecutor rested her case with a flourish.
Hutchins didn't Blackwood-examine.
Aria leaned toward him, confused.
"Why not?"
He shook his head.
"That woman isn't a threat," he said under his breath. "She's bitter, not credible. The judge can smell it."
Still, it shook Aria more than she wanted to admit.
This wasn't just about how much they loved Eli.
It was about how perfect they looked on paper.
And neither of them were perfect.
The court recessed for lunch.
Aria didn't feel hungry.
She sat on the curb outside, staring at the cracked pavement, her hands loosely clasped around her knees.
Elias dropped down beside her.
"You're not eating either, huh?"
She shook her head.
"I can't."
They sat in silence.
Then, out of nowhere, Aria whispered, "What if she's right?"
"Who?"
"That woman. Harper. What if you're too distracted? What if I'm too emotional? What if we both suck at this?"
Elias picked up a rock and tossed it at the wall a Blackwood from them.
"Then we suck," he said. "And we get better. We don't stop."
"Easy for you to say," Aria muttered.
"Not really," he said quietly. "I've lived my whole life thinking I wasn't enough. I still think that most days. But I love my kid. And I love—"
He cut himself off.
Aria turned her head sharply.
"What?"
He shrugged.
"Nothing."
"No, say it."
Elias stared at the wall.
"I love you," he said finally. Voice raw. "Still."
The world tilted.
"You shouldn't," she said after a minute, her voice cracking.
"Probably not," he agreed.
"But you do."
"Yeah."
She covered her face with her hands.
It was too much.
Too much today.
Too much everything.
She felt Elias's hand brush her hair back gently.
"We'll survive this," he said. "Even if you hate me. Even if we lose. We'll survive it."
She lowered her hands, looked at him — looked.
"I don't hate you," she said, voice shaking. "I'm just scared."
"Me too," he said.
And for the first time, she believed him completely.
Back in the courtroom, things moved fast.
Final arguments.
Closing statements.
Aria barely heard them, barely registered Hutchins's steady, persuasive voice hammering in the judge's ear.
When it was over, the judge didn't rule immediately.
He said he would take the matter under advisement and issue a decision in a few days.
The gavel slammed down.
Court dismissed.
And just like that — it was over.
For now.
Outside the courthouse, the sky was gray.
Storm coming.
Elias shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at the clouds.
"You wanna grab dinner?" he asked roughly.
Aria gave him a sideways glance.
"Are you seriously asking me on a date after court?"
He smiled, small and real.
"Not a date. A... ceasefire meal."
She snorted.
"You're ridiculous."
"True. Still hungry."
Aria hesitated.
Then she said, "Yeah. Okay."
They walked to her car, side by side.
Not holding hands.
Not talking much.
But together.
For now.
And maybe that was enough.