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

Opening night arrived with rain.

I could hear it against the school roof while I waited behind the stage curtain. My costume was a brown apron and a hat that kept slipping over my eyes.

Maya, who played the baker, fixed the hat for the third time.

“Stop touching it,” she said.

“I’m nervous.”

“You have one line.”

“That’s enough to say wrong.”

Through a gap in the curtain, I found Dad in the audience. Aunt Renee sat beside him. Mom was two seats away with Grandma Celia.

They had come together.

Grandma caught me peeking and gave me a small wave. I waved back before the teacher told us to get in place.

When my scene came, I walked onto the stage and said my line clearly. Maya answered. The audience laughed where they were supposed to, and I remembered to leave through the right door.

After the show, Mom hugged me first. Dad held up flowers. Grandma told me she could hear every word from the back of the room.

“She wasn’t at the back,” Mom said, laughing. “She was right beside me.”

“I could still hear,” Grandma said.

We took a picture with my costume hat tilted over one eye. It was my favorite picture of all of us because nobody was trying to look perfect.

The next morning, I went to Grandma’s garden with Mom. I practiced the sentence Dr. Hill had taught me before we left, though I hoped I wouldn’t need it.

Grandma handed me a little pair of gloves.

“The tomatoes survived my watering,” she said.

“Did you water them too much?”

“Probably.”

We worked side by side. She asked about school and the play. She did not mention court. When Mom went inside to get lemonade, Grandma waited until she came back before telling me she was proud of how I had spoken onstage.

I didn’t have to use my sentence. I kept it ready anyway.

At Dad’s apartment, I put the play photograph next to my clay bowl. Dad hung the flower from my costume on the wall with a clip.

“It won’t last,” I said.

“The photograph will.”

That Sunday, Dad received a call from my school. Ms. Parker had noticed I was quieter than usual during reading time. I had missed two homework assignments.

Dad asked me about it without sounding angry.

“I did one,” I said. “I left it at Mom’s.”

“And the other?”

“I forgot.”

He sat beside me. “What’s taking up space in your head?”

I thought about the court calendar, the play, the garden, and how many times I checked both parents’ faces when they stood together.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to solve it right now. Let’s email Ms. Parker about the missing work, then see what we can change.”

Mom dropped off the assignment from her house. Dad thanked her. They talked about how I had been sleeping. Mom said I had woken once at her house and asked what would happen if the judge changed the schedule again.

I hadn’t told Dad that.

He looked at me, concerned.

“The next meeting is a review,” he said. “It doesn’t mean anyone will surprise you tomorrow.”

I nodded, though I had been worrying about it for weeks.

Dr. Hill helped me make a list of questions for Mom and Dad. I asked whether I would have to testify again. They said the adults would speak first, and if the judge needed to hear from me, I would be told ahead of time.

I asked whether Grandma’s mistake could make Mom lose time with me. They said no single moment decided everything; the judge would look at the whole picture.

Then I asked the question I hadn’t wanted to say.

“If I’m happy at Dad’s, does Mom think I’m happier without her?”

Mom’s eyes filled. She waited until she could answer steadily.

“No. I’m learning that you can be happy with Dad and still love me.”

I leaned against her.

“I am happy with you sometimes too.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I can hear that now.”

After that conversation, my homework felt easier. Ms. Parker let me turn in the missing page. I still forgot little things, but I stopped worrying that every mistake meant I had chosen the wrong house.

One evening, Dad told me he had been offered a promotion. It would mean longer hours and occasional trips away.

He had not accepted it.

“Do you want the job?” I asked.

“Part of me does.”

“Will you say no because of me?”

“I’m deciding what works for us. That is my job, not yours.”

I could see he wanted it. I also knew Aunt Renee helped when he worked late.

“Can you ask whether the trips can wait until summer?” I said.

“That’s a good question. I’ll ask.”

He did. The hospital offered a different role with more responsibility but fewer trips. He accepted it after we talked through the schedule with Mom and Aunt Renee.

I was proud of him.

At the next review meeting, Ms. Reed noted that Mom and Dad were sharing information about school, that my assignments were back on track, and that visits with Grandma were going well.

The judge kept the schedule in place.

I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear that until Dad told me.

“So I can keep my calendar?” I asked.