DAPHNE”s POV

Mothers don’t get to break.

Not in the kitchen when dinner burns. Not in the doctor’s office when the diagnosis cuts deep.

And certainly not in a courtroom where the man who ruined your life is trying to take your son.

That thought kept me upright as I crossed the marble floor of the courthouse, my heels echoing too loudly in the cavernous hall.

Every step was heavy, every breath shallow, but I carried myself tall. Because back home, Christian was waiting.

And whatever ...