In the end, it’s neither of those things that help me find steady ground. It’s Richard Horne, face down in his breakfast with orange juice in his lap. It’s not a bad way to go, but it wasn’t his time. And time is too precious. No one deserves to have theirs cut short.

A few minutes later, Jeff and I watch with interest as Yvette Horne and her attorney come in. The lawyer is definitely not from around here. He looks too ‘city’ to be from Williamson County, and besides, everyone knows everyone out here and I’ve never seen this guy.

He’s someone I’d remember too, not just because of the slicked-back hair, navy suit, and purple tie, but because there’s something about him that screams ‘ambulance chaser’.

Or maybe I think that because he’s sitting with Yvette, who’s dressed demurely in a black, knee-length dress and heels and dabbing at her bone-dry eyes with a tissue. When she sees that the judges’ table is empty, I hear her quiet ‘oh’ as she drops the act and merely stands stock-still at the attorney’s side.

“Thanks for coming. I’m Holland Monroe, Mrs. Horne’s attorney.” He holds out a hand to Jeff, who shakes it, and then to me, and I do the same. “Should be an open and shut case today. We’ll have you out of here as quick as possible.”

He smiles congenially as though he truly believes that. Or if he doesn’t, he puts on a good act, but that’s probably a skill all good lawyers have.

A side door opens and Judge Hopkins comes in. “Mornin’,” he greets us. With a more important person in the room, Mr. Monroe forgets us and escorts Yvette to one of the tables to sit.

“Mornin’, Mike,” Jeff tells the judge, holding up his cup of coffee to return the greeting. As he sits down at his own table, I see the instant Judge Mike Hopkins, a serious, take-no-bullshit guy who scares me to my core, realizes I’m in his courtroom. It’s not that he’s a bad guy. Quite the opposite, actually, but he’s who handled the guardianship paperwork when I adopted Jacob, and he’d, quite literally, held my family in his hands.

But his eyes widen ever so slightly and his lips part, and though he might’ve let Jacob and me be a family, Judge Hopkins believes at least a little bit of the gossip he’s heard about me.

I could see it then and I can see it in every line on his face now.

“Zoey Walker, long time no see,” he says, and I’m pretty sure that if he’d never seen me again, it still would’ve been too soon.

“Judge Hopkins, it has been a while. Jacob’s all grown now, going to school in town.”