He paced slowly in front of the judge’s bench, speaking in that smooth, practiced tone lawyers use when they want their arguments to sound less like attacks and more like unfortunate realities everyone must reluctantly accept.
“Your Honor,” Langford said, adjusting the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose while glancing briefly in my direction, “this case, at its core, is not about affection or emotional attachment, although those things are of course important. The question before the court is one of stability.”
He paused, letting the word settle into the room.
“Stability,” he repeated.
Then he opened a folder and removed a printed chart, holding it up as though he were presenting evidence in a corporate board meeting rather than deciding where a child would live.
“Ms. Harper’s income,” he continued, gesturing politely toward me without actually looking at me, “comes from two part-time positions—one at a neighborhood grocery store and another cleaning offices during evening hours. Combined, those positions generate a monthly income that barely exceeds her living expenses.”
He set the chart down.
“Love,” he added softly, almost sympathetically, “does not pay the electric bill.”
The words floated through the room like smoke.
The judge nodded once.
It wasn’t a large movement.
