Chapter 5 - The Legal BattleThree weeks later, we met in a sterile, glass-walled mediation room in downtown Chicago.
Brandon sat across the long mahogany table from me, flanked by his attorney, a solemn man who looked like he wished he were anywhere else. Brandon looked awful. He had lost weight, dark circles hung heavily beneath his bloodshot eyes, and his suit looked slightly wrinkled, as if he no longer had anyone to remind him to take care of himself.
Beside me sat Evelyn Reed, looking calm, sharp, and entirely in control.
“Mr. Moretti,” Evelyn began, resting her hands on the table. “We are here to discuss the terms of the temporary custody agreement and financial support. My client is seeking sole legal custody and primary physical custody of Lila and Ivy, with supervised visitation for you on alternating weekends.”
Brandon flinched as if he had been slapped. “Supervised?! Evelyn, they are my daughters! I am their father! I deserve joint custody!”
“A father who turns off his phone while his six-month-old infants are in the emergency room does not demonstrate the capacity for unsupervised sole care of twin infants, Mr. Moretti,” Evelyn stated coolly, sliding a folder across the table.
Inside the folder were printed logs of my phone records, medical reports from the emergency clinic, and screenshots of text messages where Brandon had repeatedly refused to care for the girls.
Brandon’s attorney flipped through the pages, groaned quietly under his breath, and leaned over to whisper in Brandon’s ear. “Brandon, we cannot win this in court right now. The judge will destroy us. Take the deal and build up your record.”
“No!” Brandon snapped, looking across the table at me, tears brimming in his eyes. “Clara... please. Look at me.”
I looked up, meeting his gaze directly. I didn't feel anger anymore. I just felt a quiet, profound sadness for the man he used to be.
“Clara, I am so sorry,” Brandon choked out, his voice cracking. “I was overwhelmed. I felt like I lost my wife when the babies were born. You never looked at me anymore. You were always tired, always stressed, and I felt like an outsider in my own home. I panicked... I made a terrible, stupid mistake.”
I listened quietly before responding.
“Brandon,” I said softly, “when the twins were born, I lost my identity, my sleep, my body, and my freedom. I was overwhelmed every single second of every single day. But I didn't get to turn off my phone and go on a four-day fishing trip. I didn't get to check out of being a parent because it was hard.”
“I know... I know you didn't,” he sobbed, burying his face in his hands.
“You didn't lose your wife because the babies were born, Brandon,” I continued, my voice steady and clear. “You lost your wife because when she was drowning and begging for a lifeline, you looked at her and told her to swim alone.”
The room was silent save for Brandon’s quiet weeping.
His attorney pushed the mediation documents toward him. “Sign the temporary agreement, Brandon. Prove to the court—and to Clara—that you can be a responsible father during your supervised visits, and we can revisit custody in six months.”
With a trembling hand, Brandon picked up a pen and signed his name at the bottom of the page.
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As we stood up to leave, Brandon looked at me one last time. “Can I at least see them this weekend?”
I looked at the father of my children, taking a deep breath. “Yes, Brandon. Saturday at ten o'clock at Sarah’s house. Be on time. And bring diapers.”
