My mother stood before the judge with both hands pressed against the table.

I didn’t answer Mom’s last message.

I read it again before bed and once more in the morning. I knew Dad would say I hadn’t done anything wrong. I still felt as though I had broken something between us.

At breakfast, Dad noticed I had pushed my cereal around without eating.

“Did Mom send another message?”

I showed him.

His jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything cruel about her. He asked if he could save a copy, because the adults needed to understand what happened after the hearing.

“Will she get in trouble?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I want someone to help us talk about this without putting it on you.”

He sent the message to his lawyer, Ms. Brooks, then put his phone away.

“I also want you to speak with someone whose job is to listen to kids,” he said. “Would you be willing?”

“Another person asking where I want to live?”

“No. Someone you can tell what you want to tell.”

I thought about it. “Can you wait outside?”

“Of course.”

Two days later, I met Dr. Hill. Her office had a couch, colored pencils, and a small wooden puzzle. She told me I could draw while we talked.

I drew two houses on opposite sides of the page.

Between them, I drew myself.

“Which house feels easiest to be in right now?” she asked.

I colored Dad’s house yellow.

“Mom’s house has more of my things,” I said. “But I’m always trying to guess how she feels.”

“What happens if you guess wrong?”

“She gets quiet. Or she cries.”

I told Dr. Hill about the photograph Mom sent. I told her about the words that came after it.

“I don’t want anyone to think Mom is mean,” I said. “She makes my favorite soup when I’m sick. She comes to my school concerts.”

“You can tell me those things too.”

I drew a flower by Mom’s house.

Dr. Hill asked whether Dad ever told me what to say about Mom.

“No. He says I can miss her.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

That was the first time I had said it out loud since court.

I missed the way Mom braided my hair while telling stories about when she was little. I missed dancing with her while we cleaned the kitchen. I wanted those moments without the questions that seemed to follow them now.

After the appointment, Dad asked whether I wanted to talk.

“Not yet.”

“Okay.”

He drove us to a park. I sat on a swing until I was ready to leave.

On Saturday, it was time for me to spend the day with Mom. Dad dropped me at her house. She opened the door before I reached it and held out her arms.

I hugged her hard.

“I missed you,” she said.

“I missed you too.”

For the first hour, everything felt familiar. We made grilled cheese. She asked about school and laughed when I told her what Maya had said to the boy at lunch.

Then Mom pointed to a suitcase by the stairs.

“I was thinking you could stay the night,” she said.

I looked at it. “Dad said I’m coming back after dinner.”

“That’s the temporary plan. Plans can change.”

“Did you ask him?”

“Not yet. I thought you could tell him you wanted to stay.”

I did want to sleep in my old bed. I also knew Dad would say yes if the adults agreed. Mom was asking me to carry the question between them.

“Can you call him?” I asked.

Her smile faded.

“You’re afraid to ask your own father?”

“No. I just want you two to decide.”

Mom looked away. “He’s taught you to say that.”

I set down my sandwich.

“Dr. Hill said I don’t have to carry messages.”

Mom’s eyes widened. “You’re telling a stranger about me?”

“She asked how I feel.”

“And you told her I make you feel guilty?”

I wished I could disappear again.

“I told her I miss you,” I said.

Mom stared at me. Then her face changed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I did it again.”

I didn’t know what to say.

She moved the suitcase back into the hall closet. After that, we watched a movie. She let me choose. Halfway through, she put her arm around me. I leaned against her.

At pickup, Dad came to the porch. Mom told him she had asked me about staying overnight without speaking to him first.

“That was my mistake,” she said.

Dad nodded. “We can discuss changes to the schedule ourselves.”

Mom looked at me. “I want to try.”

I held on to that sentence during the drive home.

That evening, Dr. Hill called Dad. She had spoken with the court-appointed family specialist who would be making a recommendation to the judge. The specialist wanted to meet with both parents and see how I spent time in each home.

I could hear Dad’s answers from the kitchen. He said yes to every appointment time.

When he hung up, he came to my doorway.

“There will be a few more meetings,” he said. “You’ll know when they’re happening.”

I nodded.

“Did Mom call you about the suitcase?”

“She did.”

“Was she mad?”

“She sounded worried about getting it right.”

I hoped that was true.

Before I fell asleep, Mom sent one more message.