My stepkids told me they only answer to their biological parents. So that same night, I changed the locks, canceled every privilege in my name, and called their real dad to come pick them up. Nobody argued. Not even my wife.

Judge Lorraine Barlow.

Harriet said she’d been on the family bench for 20 years and had heard every lie a parent could tell.

She said she’s fair, she’s tired, and she does not like being played.

I wore my only suit.

Nora wore a gray dress.

Walt came.

He wore a tie I’m pretty sure he hadn’t worn since he retired, and he sat in the second row with his hands on his knees like a soldier.

Russ walked in with Gaines.

He was wearing a new jacket.

He looked confident.

He winked at Nora.

Actually winked.

Colby walked in behind him.

He was paler than I remembered.

Thinner.

He didn’t look at us.

Not once.

Gaines went first.

He was good. I’ll give him that.

He painted a picture of two scared teenagers thrown out of their home at midnight by a cold,

controlling stepfather who cut off their phones so they couldn’t call for help.

Took away the car they depended on and destroyed his stepdaughter’s dance dreams out of spite.

He said I had a temper.

He said the kids had begged their father for months to rescue them.

He said these children told this man respectfully that they answer to their biological parents, and for that, he threw them into the street.

Then he called Russ to the stand.

Russ was smooth.

He talked about how much he loved his kids.

He talked about how they’d called him crying.

He said he dropped everything that night and came running because that’s what a real father does.

He said, “My kids chose me. That’s all this is. They chose their real dad,

and these two can’t handle it.”

When Gaines asked about child support, Russ said he’d had some hard years, but he was working it out with the state and that it had nothing to do with anything.

Then it was Harriet’s turn.

She stood up slowly, took off her glasses, and asked Russ one question at a time.

“Mr. Keller, how did you get to my client’s house in 35 minutes at midnight with an empty truck and ratchet straps already in the bed?”

Russ said he was just prepared.

Harriet said, “You told the children their rooms were all set up. When did you set them up?”

Russ said he didn’t remember.

Harriet said, “Mr. Keller, you contacted your children more than 600 times in the four months before that night.

In the year before that, you contacted them 19 times. What changed?”

Russ said he decided to be more involved.

Harriet said, “Is that the same four months the state told you they were going to suspend your license over $41,312 in unpaid child support?”

Gaines objected.

The judge said, “Overruled. I’d like to hear the answer.”

Russ didn’t have one.

Harriet kept going.

“Mr. Keller, you testified that you dropped everything for your children. Your daughter qualified for regional dance finals this year. Did you pay the entry fee?”

Russ said he was going to.

Harriet said, “The competition was nine days ago.”

Russ said money was tight.

Harriet said, “Money was tight. But two Saturdays ago, you and your girlfriend spent a night at the Silver Crest Casino,

and you left your 16-year-old daughter alone with two small children who weren’t hers. Is that correct?”

Russ looked at Gaines.

Gaines looked at his notepad.

Russ said, “She’s 16. She can babysit.”

Harriet said, “She can. She did. And when the children’s father picked them up and the door locked behind her, she had no phone service because the only adult who ever paid for her phone was the man you’re accusing. So she walked a mile and a half in the rain to a gas station. Do you know whose number she called?”

Russ didn’t answer.

Harriet said, “That was a rhetorical question, Mr. Keller. It was his.”

She pointed at me.

Then she asked the court’s permission to play one more recording.

It was the phone call.

Russ’s own voice filled the courtroom.

“Sign the custody agreement. You agree to the support. I drop the protective order thing. Paige gets up there and cries about her arm.”

And then, “She was on a porch, Nora. Not in a river. Your husband’s the one who went nuclear. I just knew he would.”

Russ half stood up and said, “That’s out of context.”

The judge said, “Sit down, Mr. Keller.”

He sat down.

Then Harriet walked over to her table, picked up a clear plastic bag, and held up a spiral notebook.

She asked Russ if he recognized the handwriting at the top of the first page.

Russ said, “No.”