The first court hearing took place on a rainy Thursday morning.
Savannah wore a navy blouse and a gray cardigan.
Her bruises had faded, but the skin beneath her right eye still carried a yellow shadow.
She stood in front of my hallway mirror for nearly ten minutes.
“Do I look unstable?”
I put down my keys.
“You look like someone who has been through a lot.”
“That's not the same.”
“No.”
She looked at herself again.
“Maybe I should wear the black jacket.”
“Wear what feels comfortable.”
“Mom says navy makes me look weak.”
I met her eyes in the mirror.
“Mom isn't the one going to court.”
Savannah stared at me.
Then she took off the gray cardigan and put on her black jacket.
“Good,” she said. “I like this better.”
It was a tiny decision.
I understood why it mattered.
At the courthouse, Dean sat beside his attorney.
He wore a charcoal suit and a solemn expression.
Patricia was two seats behind him.
She looked at Savannah once, then turned away.
The hearing concerned temporary arrangements while the larger custody dispute continued.
Rebecca had explained that the judge would consider evidence of safety concerns, parenting responsibilities, and Khloe's needs.
No one could promise the outcome.
Savannah's hands were cold.
I squeezed them before she went inside.
“Tell the truth. You don't have to be perfect.”
She nodded.
Dean's attorney spoke first.
He portrayed Dean as a concerned father who had become increasingly alarmed by Savannah's emotional state.
He cited missed appointments.
He cited her departure from the family home in the middle of the night.
He cited her decision to take Khloe to my apartment rather than seek immediate hospital care.
He didn't dwell on the fact that Savannah was injured.
Rebecca responded with medical documentation, messages, and the police reports available at that stage.
She explained the circumstances of Savannah's departure and her immediate decision to seek help once she reached safety.
She also presented records showing Savannah's longstanding role in Khloe's daily care.
The judge asked several pointed questions.
Had Dean restricted Savannah's access to funds?
Had he prevented Khloe from leaving?
Had there been a physical confrontation?
Dean denied intentionally injuring his wife.
He said Savannah fell during an argument.
Rebecca referred to the driveway footage and the additional camera angle that contradicted parts of his account.
The judge reviewed the materials before him.
Then he turned to the question of Khloe.
“Her disability does not reduce the importance of her safety, dignity, or relationship with either parent,” he said.
I watched Savannah's shoulders shift.
For years, Dean had spoken as though Khloe's disability gave him greater authority over everyone else.
The judge was treating it as a reason to examine her actual needs.
That difference mattered.
At the end of the hearing, the court maintained Khloe's temporary primary residence with Savannah, with carefully structured arrangements governing Dean's contact while the safety allegations were examined.
The judge required further evaluations and ordered both parties to provide relevant records.
He also emphasized that the interim decision was not a final custody determination.
Savannah listened closely.
Then she exhaled.
Dean looked furious.
Patricia stared straight ahead.
Outside the courtroom, Rebecca reminded us that there would be more proceedings.
“We've made progress,” she said. “But the case isn't finished.”
Savannah nodded.
“I understand.”
Dean approached before we reached the elevator.
His attorney was several steps behind him.
“You're pleased with yourself?” he asked Savannah.
She stopped.
“No.”
He glanced at me.
“You've always wanted her dependent on you.”
I felt the old impulse to confront him.
Savannah spoke first.
“Maddie isn't making my decisions.”
Dean laughed.
“Really?”
“No.”
Her voice was quiet.
But she held his gaze.
“I'm making them.”
He stepped back as Rebecca approached.
Nobody raised their voice.
Nobody made a scene.
We walked away.
That evening, Savannah received a message from a woman she knew through Khloe's therapy center.
Her name was Erin.
Erin had worked briefly as an administrative contractor for Mercer Family Services.
She'd heard about the court proceedings through mutual acquaintances and wanted to know whether Savannah was safe.
Savannah called her.
I remained nearby but didn't join the conversation.
After several minutes, Savannah's expression changed.
“What invoices?”
She listened.
Then she sat down.
“Can you send those to my attorney?”
Another pause.
“Thank you.”
When the call ended, Savannah looked at me.
“Erin did bookkeeping for Dean's company.”
I waited.
“She said he paid her to organize invoice files. A lot of the invoices described appointments and services for Khloe.”
“Did those services happen?”
Savannah shook her head.
“Some of the dates were during our vacation. One was when Khloe was in the hospital for something completely unrelated.”
She swallowed.
“Erin questioned them, and Dean told her it was an accounting issue. She stopped working for him.”
I helped Savannah contact Daniel.
He arranged to speak with Erin and receive whatever records she could lawfully provide.
The records, if genuine and complete, could help explain payments that had appeared legitimate on paper.
Savannah sat beside the kitchen table after the call.
For a while she watched Khloe working on a school project in the next room.
Then she said, “He used her appointments.”
“Maybe. We need to see the records.”
“But he complained about paying for them.”
I nodded.
She looked at the family photograph hanging on my refrigerator.
It showed Savannah, Dean, Patricia, Khloe, and me at a Christmas gathering four years earlier.
Everyone was smiling.
Dean stood behind Khloe's wheelchair with one hand resting on its handle.
Savannah removed the photograph from the refrigerator.
She studied it for a moment.
Then she placed it facedown on the counter.
“I don't want to spend the rest of my life trying to understand why he did this.”
I stood beside her.
“What do you want?”
She looked through the doorway toward her daughter.
“I want Khloe to have an ordinary Tuesday without being afraid.”
END PART 7
