Page 116 of Cut Off
Every word lands like a puck to the face. The gallery’s dead silent except for the faint hum of the wall-mounted AC.
Gardner waits, then delivers the dagger. “Isn’t it true, Ms. Anders, that Rosie told you that if anything ever happened to her, Eli should be raised by Mr. Holt?”
Fitch loses it—three objections in a row. Gardner counters each one with paperwork. By the time the judge is done sorting, he’s allowed every word into evidence.
Gwen looks like she’s going to be sick. I almost wish that’s what happens—at least it’d be honest.
Gardner lets the silence sharpen. Then she sits.
“Nothing further.”
Fitch tries to salvage—reputation, stability, safe home—but the momentum’s gone. Every answer is a concession.
My heartbeat is a blender in my chest. I look at my parents—my mom’s got tears, my dad’s holding her hand like he’s afraid she’ll tip over. I don’t look back at Gwen. Won’t give her the satisfaction.
The judge clears his throat. “Next witness.”
Gardner stands. “Your Honor, we’d like to call Zoe Lane.”
The name detonates in my skull.
And my brain glitches—did I hear that right, or am I blood-sugar crashing from hope?
Then she walks in.
Sharp blazer, hair back, posture ramrod straight. She glances once in my direction, and I can’t read her face. She’s running pro-level poker, no cracks—but the second our eyes lock, I feel it: the snap of something electric, vicious, real.
Zoe Lane, in this courtroom.
Here for Eli. Here for me.
Gardner doesn’t even give the gallery time to blink. “Ms. Lane,” she starts, “could you tell us your relationship to both parties in this case?”
“Of course,” Zoe says, voice steady. “I was Eli’s live-in caregiver for three weeks. I worked directly for Mr. Holt, who was seeking custody, and I interacted with Ms. Anders once.”
Every phrase is neat, polished, but not rehearsed. She sounds like she’s done network hits before—which, okay, she has. Still, there’s steel under the gloss.
“Could you describe Eli’s adjustment to living with Mr. Holt?”
Zoe nods. “When Eli came to live with Jonah, he was—traumatized. He’d recently lost his mother. He wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating well, had night terrors. He had to adjust to starting a new school. He didn’t trust adults, didn’t want to be touched, and would hide in the closet.”
It’s weird hearing her call me Jonah in public. It lands different—softer, but also heavier.
Gardner paces her. “And how did Mr. Holt respond?”
A small smile, genuine. Zoe’s voice warms up. “He did everything. Built a fort over Eli’s bed so he felt safe to sleep. Before that, Jonah slept in Eli’s closet floor with him after he had a night terror. Jonah was always there—never frustrated, never angry. Just there.”
I’m gripping the table so hard my hands hurt. But I can’t let go. Not now.
“Did you observe Mr. Holt lose his temper with Eli?”
The smile slides away. “Never. I saw him lose his temper with a coffeemaker once, and maybe a hockey ref on TV. With Eli, he was—it’s like he knew the assignment was to be the opposite of every bad day Eli ever had. And he delivered. Every time.”
Gardner’s not smiling, but there’s satisfaction in her eyes. “Did you ever observe Eli express fear of Mr. Holt?”
“Never.” She says it like it’s ridiculous the question even came up. “If anything, Eli got calmer the longer he lived in that house. Hestarted eating full meals, sleeping through the night, building Lego sets on the living room carpet. He started laughing again. His therapist said he was progressing in leaps and bounds.”
Now her eyes cut sideways—first to the judge, then, just for a blink, to me. “If you want my personal opinion? That kid was healing. More every day.”
