Beverly stood, thanked me with genuine kindness, and left.
Diane waited until the door clicked shut.
“Carter, there is something we need to discuss.”
“What is it?”
“The state’s attorney is going to ask you a personal question. He will ask about your background and why you are doing this.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“He can ask whatever he wants.”
“Carter, listen to me. I have read your file twice. There are gaps that the state’s attorney will notice. If there is something you have not told me, now is the time.”
I stared at a water stain on the ceiling and tried to breathe.
“I have carried this for 20 years, Diane. I have never even told my closest friends. I don’t know whether I can say it in a room full of strangers.”
“You may have to. The judge may need to hear it more than anyone.”
Before I could answer, the bailiff’s voice rang through the door, calling our case.
At the end of the hallway, the courtroom doors swung open.
Daniel, the state’s attorney, rose from his table with the calm posture of a man who had done this hundreds of times.
He did not glance at me as he arranged his charts on the podium.
“Your Honor, I want to begin by acknowledging that Carter’s intentions appear genuine,” he said. “However, good intentions alone cannot raise five children under the age of seven.”
“His residence is a converted workshop space that has not yet received final approval for foster placement. He has no spouse, no co-guardian, no current medical plan capable of covering five dependents, and, with respect, no parenting experience.”
The judge watched me over the rims of his glasses.
I felt every eye in the room settle on my borrowed tie.
“The state has three vetted foster homes prepared to receive these children by Friday,” Daniel continued. “Their separation is regrettable, but the state must prioritize stability.”
