Giving it up broke my heart. But it bought a small birthday cake, a children’s book about the constellations, and, from the clearance rack, a soft navy shirt with a tiny silver moon stitched above the pocket.
Lark loved the stars. For once, I wanted her to open something brand-new, chosen just for her.
Her whole face lit up when she saw it.
That shirt became her favorite. She wore it so often the color faded and a few stains set in for good.
Four months later, Collin’s lawyer was holding up a photo of that exact shirt to call me unfit.
The judge studied the picture. My stomach twisted. Without a lawyer, I was terrified his expensive team was about to take my daughter.
Then Lark sat up straight beside me.
She’d been silent the whole hearing, hands in her lap while grown-ups decided her life.
Now she looked right at the judge, the embarrassment gone from her face, replaced by something serious and certain.
