Chapter 5

The courthouse hallway smells like wet wool and floor wax. I sit on a bench outside the hearing room with my hands folded because a bailiff told me to keep them visible. Owen is at the county office with a supervisor. Dale is beside me. My legal aid attorney, Ms. Kline, is reading the same page for the fourth time.

Then the bailiff opens the door, and we go in.

The exchange-order hearing was not a trial. It was a review. That did not make it small. Ellis’s attorney, a man named Brice with a gray tie and a soft voice, had a folder. Inside it were screenshots of my playlist. Ellis Ward had been documenting me for two years, and now his documentation was evidence of my temper.

Brice played the eleven-second clip first. My back. My hands. Ellis’s eyebrow. The sound of Tessa not speaking.

“Your Honor,” Brice said, “this is a father who cannot control himself in front of a child.”

Ms. Kline asked for context. The judge - a tired woman with reading glasses and a cup of cold coffee - said context would be considered at the placement review. For now, she wanted to keep Owen safe. She ordered supervised visits at the county office. She appointed a guardian ad litem, a woman named Ms. Petrie, to investigate.

That afternoon, I saw Owen at the county office. It was a room with a plastic table and a bin of broken toys. He walked in with his backpack on both shoulders. He stood in the doorway and looked at me like I was behind glass.

“Hey, buddy,” I said.

His chin trembled. He didn’t run to me. He just stood there until the supervisor said it was okay. Then he walked over and put his forehead against my shoulder. I held him. He didn’t cry. He shook.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Ellis said if I do it right, I can come home.”

I closed my eyes. “You are not doing anything wrong.”

He pulled back. His face was pale and serious. “The camera,” he said. “It watches.”

After the visit, Ms. Petrie caught me in the lobby. She was a small woman with gray hair and a canvas bag. She asked me if I had any original footage from the porch. I told her I didn’t. I had only what Ellis had. She nodded like she expected that.

“I’ve requested the original files from Mr. Ward’s business,” she said. “His attorney says they’re proprietary.”

“Can you get them?”

“I can subpoena them,” she said. “If there’s a reason.”

I thought about the red light. I thought about the fresh card in the camera. I thought about the fact that the tripod had been framed wide enough to hold both my son and the whole front approach. I didn’t know how to say that without sounding like a man building an excuse.

“There’s a reason,” I said.

Ms. Petrie looked at me for a long moment. “Then find me proof.”