Page 117 of Cut Off
“Thank you, Ms. Lane. No further questions.”
Fitch tries to poke at her—accuses her of being “on Mr. Holt’s payroll,” and Zoe just snorts. “I moved to Seattle for a different job. I’m not affiliated with him anymore, except as a witness. But if you’re asking me if I’d trust him with my own child, the answer is yes. Absolutely.”
It’s a mic drop. Fitch has nothing left but a shuffle of legalese.
The judge makes a note.
There’s a pause here—long enough I start to wonder if there’s another shoe waiting to crash through the ceiling.
Gardner stands.
“Your Honor, may we request minor testimony?”
The judge nods. “Bring in the child.”
It’s an earthquake.
The door opens, and Eli walks in.
He’s in his regular clothes—jeans, the Flash T-shirt, hair brushed so hard the cowlick’s almost gone. He walks with Ms. Hernandez at his side, but he doesn’t shrink or slouch. He steps up into the witness seat, and waits.
“Hi, Eli.” The judge is kind.
“Hi,” comes the reply—small, but clear.
“I’m going to ask you a question, okay? You don’t have to answer unless you want to. But if you do, I want you to tell the truth. Can you do that?”
Eli nods. “Yes.”
The judge says, “You’ve lived with your grandmother and with Mr. Holt. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you feel safe at your grandmother’s house?”
A pause. Eli’s hands are in his lap, threading his fingers. “I guess.”
“Did you feel safe at Jonah’s house?”
He brightens. I swear, it’s like reading a face in real time—a flick of light, a shiver, then full-on confidence. “Yes. I felt really safe.”
The judge asks it, flat, the way you ask the big questions because you have to know. “If you could choose where you want to live, what would your choice be?”
Eli looks at the judge, then at Ms. Hernandez, then—blows my heart to dust—right at me. “Please,” he says, and the word is loaded, desperate, full of nine years of wanting. “I just want to be with my dad. He’s the best.”
There. It’s out. The world cracks open.
I don’t know if my eyes are burning or if that’s just adrenaline screwing with my circulatory system. I’m laser-locked on that kid, right in the chair, and the way he said dad like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The judge’s mouth twitches up, just at the corners. No smile, not really. Just the human part breaking cover.
“Thank you, Eli. You can go back to the gallery.”
Eli nods, slides off the chair, and walks straight to the back row. Doesn’t stop for anything. Sits down, hands folded, eyes never leaving me.
The judge calls counsel up. Whispered sidebars; paperwork slides across the desk. Then everyone’s back in their seats.
My hand’s over my lucky penny, and my heart’s a fucking minefield that could explode any minute now.
