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Michael Lambert’s hands tightened around the steering wheel as he pulled into the parking lot of his son’s school. Eight-year-old Ethan would be waiting by the oak tree near the playground, just like every Tuesday and Thursday. Michael had fought hard for this custody arrangement after Lorie’s death two years ago—two days a week during the school year, alternating holidays, and most of the summer. It wasn’t enough time with his boy, but it was something.
He spotted Ethan’s sandy-brown hair before the kid noticed him. His son sat alone on a bench, shoulders hunched, staring at his shoes. Michael’s chest tightened. That wasn’t the posture of a happy eight-year-old on a day he’d get to spend with his dad.
“Hey, champ,” Michael called out as he approached.
Ethan looked up, and Michael saw it immediately—the redness around his eyes, the way his lip trembled before he bit down on it.
“Dad.”
Ethan ran to him, arms wrapping around Michael’s waist with surprising force. The boy was shaking. Michael knelt down, hands on his son’s shoulders.
“What happened?”
“Grandpa Reginald came to school today.” Ethan’s voice was barely a whisper. “He talked to Principal Anderson. He said… he said, ‘Next week might be my last visit with you.’”
The words hit Michael like a freight train, but he kept his face calm. Reginald Allison—Lorie’s father. The man who’d made the last two years of Michael’s life a carefully orchestrated hell. Always with a smile on his face and lawyers on speed dial.
“Did he say anything else?”
Ethan nodded, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “He made me give you this.”
Michael unfolded the legal notice. His vision blurred at the edges as he read: Petition for full custody. Emergency hearing scheduled. The Allisons were claiming Michael was an unfit parent. Claims of neglect, substance abuse, emotional instability. All lies—lies backed by Reginald Allison’s considerable wealth and connections.
“Dad,” Ethan said, voice pulling him back. “Are they going to take me away?”
Michael pulled his son close. “No. I promise you that’s not going to happen.”
But as he said the words, he wondered if he could keep that promise.
Michael’s apartment was modest—a two-bedroom in a quiet neighborhood forty minutes from the Allison estate. He bought it after Lorie’s funeral, when living in the house they’d shared became unbearable. Reginald had offered to let him stay in the guest house on the Allison property to make co-parenting easier, but Michael had seen that trap from a mile away.
That evening, while Ethan did homework at the kitchen table, Michael reread the custody petition. Each allegation was carefully crafted to paint him as dangerous: missed pickups that had actually been Reginald changing schedules last minute; the therapist visits that Rosemary Allison had insisted were for Ethan’s trauma over his mother’s death. Even Michael’s career change after Lorie passed was spun as financial instability.
Michael worked as a freelance data analyst now, specializing in financial forensics for small firms. Before Lorie’s death, he’d been on track to make partner at a prestigious consulting firm. But sixty-hour work weeks didn’t fit with being a present father, so he’d walked away. Reginald had called it throwing away your future. Michael called it choosing what mattered.
His phone buzzed.
Ramon Mahoney—the attorney he’d hired to handle the custody arrangement two years ago. Michael stepped into his bedroom to take the call.
“Michael, I got the petition.” Ramon’s voice was tight. “This is… this is bad. The Allisons have Judge Howard Johns presiding. He’s old school—traditional family values type—and they’ve lined up Dr. Bridget Irwin as their expert witness.”
“Who’s that?”
“Child psychologist. Very respected. If she testifies that Ethan would be better off with his grandparents…” Ramon trailed off. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you. We need to talk settlement.”
“Settlement? They’re accusing me of being an unfit father, Ramon. Those are lies.”
“I know that. But fighting this in court, Michael—the Allisons have unlimited resources. They can drag this out, bleed you dry financially, and there’s no guarantee we win. Johns tends to favor stable, traditional homes. The Allisons can offer Ethan private schools, travel, a trust fund…”
“I can offer him a father who loves him.” Michael’s voice was steel.
Ramon sighed. “That might not be enough. Think about what’s best for Ethan. Shared custody. Summers with you. That’s not nothing. You could negotiate favorable terms.”
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