Ethan looked at Daniel, then at me.
“Judge Mercer?” he said softly.
The name hung between us.
I had kept my maiden name professionally. In courtrooms, on orders, in chambers, on every sealed threat assessment filed after a defendant’s brother promised to cut my baby from me if I sentenced him. Ethan knew I worked long hours. He knew I had clerks, hearings, calendars, opinions stacked in boxes at home.
But Ethan’s family had never asked what kind of lawyer I was.
They had decided I was decoration.
I looked at him. “Presiding judge of the Ninth Family Court. Three years.”
His face went blank.
“You told me you worked in family law.”
“I do.”
Daniel looked away, hiding what might have been a smile.
Ethan rubbed both hands over his face. “My mother told everyone you were doing document review.”
“She told everyone I was barren before I got pregnant.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You didn’t want to.”
That landed harder than shouting would have.
Ava made a soft sound. Noah answered with a tiny grunt. Their newborn language filled the silence better than forgiveness could have.
Ethan reached toward the bassinet, then stopped and looked at me for permission.
I gave the smallest nod.
He touched Noah’s blanket with one finger.
“I failed you,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I failed them.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed. “Can I fix it?”
I looked at him for a long time.
The man beside me was not the enemy. Not yet. But he had been the door the enemy walked through.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Daniel closed the folders. “Caroline, we should talk privately.”
Ethan stood immediately. “I’ll go.”
“No,” I said.
Both men looked at me.