Chapter 4

Mom's lawyer sat beside her, looking confident, as if the outcome was already decided. The gallery below was packed.

The judge took his seat, banged the gavel, and called the hearing to order.

Mom's lawyer stood first and read out the complaint in a clear, measured voice, "The plaintiff, Sandra Lennox, raised her children as a single mother with no steady income and no pension. She is now struggling in her later years.

"The defendant, Keira Hadley, earns a stable salary yet has deliberately withheld adequate support, paying the plaintiff only 60 dollars per month and requiring her to check in by text every day before releasing that day's portion.

"This constitutes emotional humiliation. The plaintiff is seeking 6,000 dollars per month in support, restitution for unpaid past amounts, and a formal public apology."

The lawyer sat down.

My lawyer, Mitchell Crane, rose and read out our countersuit, and once he finished, the hearing moved into witness statements.

Mom stood up, her voice cracking with tears. "Your Honor, I had no choice but to sue my own daughter. She only gives me 60 dollars a month. And she makes me check in every single day. I need to send her a message before she'll give me my two dollars for the day."

She wiped her eyes, her voice growing more wounded. "I raised her and her brother all on my own. I scrimped and saved, gave everything I had to put her through college. I always put her first. She can't treat me like this."

When she finished, her lawyer submitted the evidence, handing the judge printed copies of our text conversations. The judge read through them line by line, his frown deepening as he went, his expression growing severe. Then, he passed the copies to me and Mitchell.

I took the pages and looked them over. They showed exactly what Mom had described—my daily requirement that she text me to check in and my daily transfers of two dollars.

When I finished reading, the judge addressed me, "Defendant, are these messages authentic?"

I met his gaze and gave a small nod. "They are."

Those two words detonated the gallery. Voices erupted from every direction.

"My God, it's actually true. What kind of daughter does that?"

"Two dollars a day? That's deliberate cruelty. That's sick."

"She's completely ungrateful. She goes to college and comes back with no conscience."

The comments poured in, one after another. Mom kept her head bowed, dabbing at her tears, but the faintest trace of a smirk played at the corner of her mouth.

The judge raised his hand and brought the gavel down hard. "Order! Spectators are not permitted to disrupt these proceedings."

The courtroom fell silent instantly.

I looked up at Mom and spoke calmly, "Your Honor, the messages are authentic. But they're not the whole truth. I have evidence of my own to submit."

Mitchell submitted it for me. A thick stack of documents was handed up to the bench, including screenshots, transfer records, old receipts, chat logs, and a detailed breakdown of my living expenses from college.

The judge went through it page by page. His already tight frown deepened with every sheet, his expression growing darker. The courtroom was dead silent. Every pair of eyes was fixed on the papers in his hands.

After a moment, the judge passed the organized evidence to Mom, whose smug expression hadn't quite faded yet. She looked down at the pages, confused.

It took only a few seconds for the color to drain from her face completely.

The judge fixed his gaze on her, his tone severe. "Plaintiff, during the defendant's high school and college years, did you employ this same check-in system and provide her with only 60 dollars a month in living expenses? Is this accurate?"