The third week of supervised visits should have felt easier.
It didn't.
Every time Elias said goodbye to Eli, something cracked a little more inside him.
He kept smiling, kept playing, kept doing everything the court expected — but Aria could see it. He was fraying.
And just when they thought they could settle into a rhythm, a new letter arrived.
Aria found it stuffed into their mailbox after work, a thick envelope marked "Legal Notice."
Her stomach dropped the second she saw it.
She tore it open with shaking hands while Eli colored at the kitchen table.
Inside, cold black letters spelled it out:
Mariah was petitioning for full custody.
Elias slammed the letter onto the counter when he got home, his face flushing dark with anger.
"She's what?" he barked.
"She's claiming parental concern for Eli's environment," Aria said, voice low, like speaking louder would make it more real. "Says that supervised custody isn't enough. That the court should consider transferring full parental rights to her."
Elias paced the kitchen like a caged animal.
"She's never even spent five minutes with him!"
Aria sank into a chair, feeling hollow.
"She's got money," she said. "She's got resources. She can afford to drag this out for months. Maybe years."
Elias swore under his breath.
"This is a move," he said. "Not about Eli. About control. About punishing us."
Aria buried her face in her hands.
They'd fought so hard. And now it felt like the ground was crumbling under them again.
Eli looked up from his drawing.
"Mommy? Daddy? Why are you mad?"
Aria forced a smile.
"Not mad, baby. Just... grown-up stuff."
Eli shrugged and went back to coloring.
Elias leaned down, voice low.
"She's not taking him," he said. "I swear to you. She's not winning this."
Aria nodded, but fear twisted in her gut.
Because she wasn't so sure.
The next meeting with Hutchins was brutal.
He flipped through the petition, frowning deeply.
"She's alleging emotional instability on your part, Aria," he said. "She's pointing to the previous case files, the therapist reports, and even the supervised visitation as proof that Eli's current home isn't stable."
"But she's never even seen us together!" Aria protested.
"Doesn't matter," Hutchins said grimly. "Perception matters more than reality sometimes."
He glanced at Elias.
"And she's arguing that Elias's history makes both of you an unreliable placement."
Elias leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw.
"What's the play?" he asked.
"We fight it," Hutchins said simply. "We file a response contesting her motion. Gather character witnesses. Update psychological evaluations. Show that Eli is thriving here."
He looked at Aria sharply.
"But it's going to get ugly. She's not pulling punches."
Aria nodded stiffly.
She was tired of being scared.
If Mariah wanted a war, fine.
They'd give her one.
The next few days blurred into a frenzy of preparation.
Meetings with social workers.
Interviews with Eli's teachers.
Home inspections.
Paperwork.
So much paperwork.
Aria's hands hurt from signing forms.
Elias went back to construction work part-time, just to show financial stability, but he still made every visit, and every meeting.
They lived on caffeine and stubbornness.
Every night, they collapsed on opposite ends of the couch, barely speaking, just breathing in the same exhausted air.
Eli, sensing the tension, grew clingier.
He slept in Aria's bed most nights now, curled against her like a little bird seeking shelter.
She didn't have the heart to make him stop.
They needed each other.
All three of them.
One evening, after Eli had finally fallen asleep, Aria found Elias standing outside on the porch, staring up at the stars.
She joined him, pulling her sweatshirt tighter.
He didn't look at her.
"She's gonna drag up everything," he said quietly. "My record. Your breakdown. Every damn thing we've ever done wrong."
"I know," Aria said.
He exhaled hard, shoulders slumping.
"I'm scared," he admitted.
It broke something in her to hear him say it out loud.
She reached for his hand without thinking.
"I'm scared too," she whispered.
He squeezed her fingers, tight.
"But we're not alone anymore."
He looked at her then, eyes dark and intense.
"No," he said. "We're not."
They stood there, silent under the stars, holding on like the world might rip them apart if they let go.
The first court date for the custody challenge was set two weeks later.
Aria wore her best dress — navy blue, modest, conservative.
Elias wore a borrowed suit.
Hutchins was waiting inside, looking grim but determined.
Mariah arrived fifteen minutes late, trailing an expensive lawyer and wearing designer sunglasses she didn't bother to remove.
She barely glanced at Aria or Elias.
It was like they were invisible to her.
Aria's stomach churned.
She'd spent years being afraid of Mariah. Afraid of what she could take away.
But today, standing in the fluorescent-lit hallway, she felt something different.
Not fear.
Anger.
Righteous, burning anger.
Mariah wasn't just attacking her.
She was attacking Eli.
And Aria would burn the world down before she let that happen.
The hearing itself was procedural — paperwork, scheduling, setting expectations.
But the undertones were clear.
Mariah's lawyer hinted at instability.
At danger.
At poor parenting.
At "concerns for Eli's emotional development."
Hutchins countered fiercely, presenting glowing school reports, letters from Eli's pediatrician, and positive home evaluations.
Judge Harrow — the same judge from before — listened without giving much away.
But when he spoke, Aria caught a glimmer of hope.
"We are not interested in disrupting a child's life without compelling reason," he said sternly. "The burden of proof lies with the petitioner."
Mariah's mouth tightened.
Good.
Let her squirm.
The next hearing was scheduled for three months out.
Three months to build their case.
Three months to prove, beyond any doubt, that Eli belonged right where he was.
Back home that night, Aria sat on the couch, a sleeping Eli nestled against her.
Elias sat beside her, staring at the darkened TV screen.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Finally, Elias said:
"She's gonna come at us hard. You know that, right?"
Aria nodded.
"We'll hit back harder."
He smiled faintly.
"I forgot how stubborn you are."
She smirked tiredly.
"You needed reminding."
He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her cheek.
It was such a small gesture.
But it cracked her heart wide open.
They had lost so much.
But they still had this.
Each other.
The family they'd built.
The family they were still fighting to keep.
And they weren't giving up.
Not now.
Not ever.