Chapter 8 The Twins' Judgment

Recovery was slow for all of us. Sophie responded well to the combined bone marrow transplant, though her immune system remained fragile. I graduated from the ICU to a regular room, then to outpatient status within a week. Daniel, having donated less marrow than I had, recovered more quickly, though he refused to leave the hospital while both Sophie and I were still admitted.

The twins adapted to life at the Kingsley mansion with the resilience of children, fascinated by the grandeur of their new surroundings and especially by their grandmother, who turned out to have a surprising affinity for three-year-olds. They visited Sophie daily, bringing drawings and stories, forming a tentative sibling bond that grew stronger as Sophie's strength gradually returned.

By the third week, we had settled into a strange new normal. I had agreed to stay at the mansion temporarily, primarily to be near Sophie during her critical recovery period. Daniel and I maintained a careful civility around each other, united in our concern for our children while navigating the complicated emotional terrain between us.

It was during breakfast on a Tuesday morning when the certified letter arrived.

"What is it?" I asked, noticing Daniel's expression darken as he read the document.

He handed it to me wordlessly. It was a court summons—Victoria was suing for partial custody of Sophie.

"How dare she," I breathed, scanning the legal language with growing outrage. "After everything she's done?"

"She's claiming she raised Sophie for her first five years," Daniel explained tightly. "And that the biological connection is irrelevant compared to the established parental relationship."

"But she lied about being Sophie's biological mother! She stole my eggs, your sperm—created a child without consent! That's criminal!"

Daniel's jaw tightened. "Her lawyers are arguing that the statute of limitations has expired for any criminal charges related to the fertility clinic actions. And they're countering that my knowledge of and participation in Sophie's upbringing constitutes tacit approval."

"This is absurd," I said, standing up so abruptly that my chair scraped across the floor. The twins looked up from their breakfast, startled by the noise. "She can't possibly think she'll win."

"She doesn't need to win outright," Daniel said grimly. "She just needs to drag us through a public court battle, expose all our complicated history, and position herself as the victim who's being denied access to a child she helped raise."

I sank back into my chair, suddenly understanding. "It's blackmail. She'll drop the suit if..."

"If I reinstate her position at Kingsley Pharmaceuticals and give her access to Sophie," Daniel confirmed. "Her lawyer called this morning before the letter arrived."

"You can't seriously be considering it," I said, studying his expression.

"Of course not," he snapped. "But I need to be strategic about how we fight this."

Later that day, after consulting with the Kingsley family attorneys, we learned that Victoria had filed not just for custody of Sophie, but for temporary custody pending the outcome of the case—a move that could potentially remove Sophie from our care within weeks.

"Her legal team is arguing that Sophie's current living arrangement is unstable," the lead attorney explained in Daniel's study. "With her medical condition, the recent introduction of siblings she barely knows, and the uncertain relationship status between her biological parents."

"That's ridiculous," I protested. "Sophie is thriving with us."

"They've also submitted a psychological evaluation suggesting that your sudden reappearance after three years of absence has been destabilizing for Sophie," the attorney continued, looking uncomfortable. "And they've obtained your mental health records from shortly after the twins' birth, showing you were treated for post-traumatic stress and anxiety."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "Those records are private."

"Victoria worked at the hospital," Daniel reminded me gently. "She likely had access, or connections to someone who did."

"This is a violation—"

"One of many," Daniel agreed grimly. "But we need to focus on countering their narrative, not just being outraged by it."

The following week was a blur of depositions, affidavits, and consultations with experts who could testify to Sophie's well-being in our care. Through it all, we tried to shield the children from the brewing legal storm, though Sophie, perceptive as always, sensed the tension.

"Is Victoria trying to take me away?" she asked one evening as I tucked her into bed.

I froze, uncertain how to respond. "Who told you that?"

Sophie fidgeted with her blanket. "I heard Grandma talking on the phone. She said Victoria was being a 'manipulative witch' trying to steal me back."

Despite the gravity of the situation, I had to suppress a smile at Bess's colorful assessment. "Grown-ups sometimes have disagreements about what's best for children," I said carefully. "But you don't need to worry about it."

"I don't want to go with her," Sophie said, her voice small but determined. "She used to be nice, but then she got mad all the time. She told me my real mommy didn't want me, but that was a lie, wasn't it? Because you're my real mommy."

My heart clenched at her words. "Yes, sweetheart. I am your real mother. And I'm not going anywhere this time."

The day before the temporary custody hearing, Daniel and I met with our legal team for final preparations. The lawyers were concerned about Victoria's strategy.

"She's painted a compelling narrative," our lead attorney explained. "The devoted surrogate mother who raised Sophie, now cruelly cut out of her life by vindictive biological parents who abandoned her for years. It's emotionally manipulative but potentially effective with certain judges."

"But it's built on lies," I protested.

"Unfortunately, the court may focus more on Sophie's emotional attachments than on how those attachments were formed," the attorney said. "We need to be prepared for Victoria to present herself as the stable, loving presence in Sophie's life."

Daniel had been unusually quiet during the meeting. Now he spoke up. "What about Sophie's own wishes? She's eight years old—old enough for the court to consider her preference."

The attorneys exchanged glances. "Having Sophie testify would be traumatic," one said cautiously. "And Victoria's team would argue she's been influenced by you both since your return."

"We're not talking about testimony," Daniel clarified. "I'm talking about a private meeting with the judge, which is standard procedure in custody cases involving children old enough to express a preference."

"Even so," another lawyer interjected, "Victoria's team will claim Sophie is saying what she thinks you want to hear."

I saw Daniel's expression harden into the cold, calculating look I remembered from our early days—the business titan ready to crush opposition. "Then we need to make sure the judge hears something that couldn't possibly have been coached."

The courtroom the next morning was smaller than I'd expected, though Victoria's entrance made it feel suddenly claustrophobic. She swept in wearing an elegant cream suit, her blonde hair styled in a sophisticated updo, the very picture of a successful, polished professional woman. Her gaze locked with mine briefly, a hint of triumph in her eyes.

Her legal team immediately requested that the proceedings be closed to protect Sophie's privacy—a move our lawyers had anticipated and prepared to counter.

"Your Honor," our attorney argued, "Ms. Lancaster's sudden concern for privacy is disingenuous at best. She has already given three media interviews about this case, including one this morning on the courthouse steps."

The judge—a stern-faced woman in her sixties—seemed unimpressed by both sides. "This temporary hearing will remain open, but I will not tolerate any grandstanding or media plays in my courtroom. Is that clear?"

Victoria's opening arguments were exactly as predicted—emotional appeals painting herself as the devoted mother figure cruelly separated from a child she had raised from infancy. Her attorney emphasized my three-year absence and Daniel's workaholic tendencies, questioning our fitness as parents.

"Furthermore," her lawyer continued smoothly, "Dr. Montgomery's mental health records indicate significant trauma-related issues following the birth of her twins. While we sympathize with her struggles, Sophie needs stability and consistency, not a caregiver still processing her own trauma."

I gripped the edge of the table, fighting to maintain my composure as my private medical information was discussed so callously. Daniel's hand covered mine briefly, a silent show of support.

When it was our turn, our attorney methodically laid out Victoria's deception—the stolen genetic material, the fraudulent medical records, the manipulation of both Daniel and me for years.

"Ms. Lancaster did not 'raise' Sophie out of maternal love," he argued. "She created her through fraud and medical malpractice as part of an obsessive fixation on Mr. Kingsley. When that relationship failed, she used Sophie as leverage to maintain her connection to the Kingsley family and fortune."

The judge interrupted. "These are serious allegations. Do you have evidence beyond Mr. Kingsley and Dr. Montgomery's testimony?"

"We do, Your Honor." Our attorney presented affidavits from three former fertility clinic employees detailing Victoria's unauthorized access to stored genetic material, along with financial records showing payments to the surrogate who had carried Sophie after Victoria's own pregnancy attempt failed.

Victoria's face remained composed, but I could see the tightening around her eyes as the evidence mounted.

The arguments continued through the morning, with expert witnesses testifying about Sophie's current well-being and medical progress. By lunch recess, I felt cautiously optimistic about our chances.

It was during the afternoon session that Victoria's team played their trump card.

"Your Honor, we'd like to present evidence regarding Mr. Kingsley's treatment of the twins," her attorney announced.

Daniel stiffened beside me.

"What treatment?" the judge asked.

Victoria's lawyer presented a series of photographs—clearly taken with a long-range lens through windows of the Kingsley mansion. They showed Daniel in what appeared to be the twins' bedroom, holding Lily's arm as she cried, a syringe visible in his other hand.

"These photos, taken by Ms. Lancaster when she visited the Kingsley estate to deliver documents last week, show Mr. Kingsley performing unauthorized medical procedures on his children," the lawyer claimed. "We have reason to believe he has been extracting blood samples from the twins without proper medical supervision, continuing the pattern of treating children as medical resources rather than human beings."

A murmur ran through the courtroom. I turned to Daniel in shock, but his expression was unreadable.

"Mr. Kingsley," the judge said severely, "do you wish to respond to these allegations?"

Daniel stood slowly. "Yes, Your Honor. Those photographs show me administering Lily's allergy medication. She has a severe reaction to certain foods, and the medication must be injected when symptoms appear. As her father, I am fully authorized to provide this medical care."

"Do you have documentation of this alleged allergy?" Victoria's lawyer challenged.

"We do," our attorney confirmed, quickly producing Lily's medical records from New Mexico. "These show a clear diagnosis of food allergies requiring injectable epinephrine as needed."

Victoria's smug expression faltered, but her lawyer pressed on. "Even if that's true for one instance, we have reports from household staff that Mr. Kingsley regularly takes blood samples from both children."

"That's a lie," I interjected, unable to contain myself.

"Dr. Montgomery," the judge warned, "please speak through your counsel."

Our attorney stood. "Your Honor, we categorically deny these allegations and would like to present our own witness."

To my surprise, he called Lily to the stand. My heart raced as my daughter—just three years old and so tiny in the vast witness chair—was sworn in using a simplified oath appropriate for her age.

Victoria's team objected strenuously, but the judge overruled them. "I want to hear from the child directly."

Our attorney approached Lily gently. "Hello, Lily. Do you know why you're here today?"

Lily nodded solemnly. "To talk about the medicine."

"What medicine is that?"

"My special medicine for when strawberries make my throat hurt," she explained seriously. "Daddy gives it to me when I need it."

"Does your daddy ever take blood from your arm?"

Lily looked confused. "What's blood?"

"The red stuff inside your body," the attorney clarified.

Lily shook her head emphatically. "No. Only Doctor Ethan did that once when I was sick."

Victoria's lawyer stood for cross-examination, approaching Lily with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Lily, does your daddy ever hurt you?"

"Objection!" our attorney called. "Leading the witness."

"I'll rephrase," Victoria's lawyer said smoothly. "Lily, how do you feel when your daddy gives you medicine?"

Lily considered this seriously. "It hurts a little bit, but then my throat feels better and I can breathe good again."

"And does he give you medicine often?"

"Only when I eat strawberries by accident," Lily explained. "Like at Sophie's birthday when I ate the wrong cake."

Victoria's lawyer looked frustrated by these straightforward answers. "Lily, do you know who that lady is?" She pointed to Victoria.

Lily's expression changed immediately, her little face hardening in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Daniel's boardroom glare.

"She's the bad lady," Lily stated firmly.

"Why do you say that?" the lawyer asked, clearly not expecting this response.

"Because she made Sophie cry," Lily said simply. "And she told Sophie that Mama didn't want her, but that's a lie. Mama loves Sophie and me and Matthew."

Victoria's face flushed with anger. Before her lawyer could redirect, Lily continued unprompted.

"And she's the one who takes blood," she added, pointing directly at Victoria. "I saw her in Sophie's room with a big needle. Sophie was crying and showing me the owie spots on her arm after."

The courtroom went completely silent.

"What do you mean, Lily?" the judge asked gently, leaning forward. "When did you see this?"

"When we first came to the big house," Lily explained. "I was looking for Sophie to show her my bunny, and the bad lady was there with a needle. She told Sophie it was special medicine, but Sophie told me later it wasn't medicine, it was for tests."

I felt Daniel tense beside me, his expression darkening with fury.

"Your Honor," our attorney said quietly, "we'd like to request an immediate investigation into unauthorized medical procedures performed by Ms. Lancaster on Sophie Kingsley."

The judge nodded grimly. "Ms. Lancaster, do you wish to respond to these allegations?"

Victoria stood, her composure cracking slightly. "Sophie's treatment requires regular blood monitoring. As someone who has been involved in her care for years, I was simply helping with routine testing."

"Without parental consent or medical authorization?" the judge asked sharply.

"Daniel has always allowed me to assist with Sophie's care," Victoria insisted. "Ask him yourself!"

All eyes turned to Daniel, who stood slowly, his voice controlled but vibrating with anger. "I never authorized Victoria Lancaster to perform any medical procedures on my daughter. Ever."

The judge's expression hardened. "Bailiff, please escort Ms. Lancaster to my chambers. We need to discuss potential criminal charges for practicing medicine without a license."

As Victoria was led away, her face a mask of disbelief, I gathered Lily into my arms, holding her tightly.

"You did so well, brave girl," I whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"Is the bad lady in trouble?" Lily asked innocently.

"Yes, sweetheart," Daniel answered, joining our embrace. "Big trouble."

The judge called a recess, ordering Sophie to be brought to her chambers for a private conversation before she made her ruling on temporary custody. As we waited in the hallway, Daniel paced restlessly.

"I had no idea Victoria was taking blood from Sophie," he said, his voice tight with controlled rage. "If I had known..."

"Sophie must have been too afraid to tell us," I replied, watching the twins playing quietly in a corner of the waiting area with Daniel's mother. "How did we miss this?"

Before Daniel could answer, the courtroom doors opened, and the bailiff called us back in. Sophie was already seated beside the judge's bench, looking small but determined.

The judge addressed the court with a stern expression. "After speaking with Sophie and considering all evidence presented today, I am issuing an emergency protective order barring Victoria Lancaster from any contact with Sophie Kingsley or the twins. Furthermore, I am denying Ms. Lancaster's petition for temporary custody and granting full temporary custody to the biological parents, Daniel Kingsley and Isabella Montgomery, pending the final custody hearing."

Relief flooded through me, but the judge wasn't finished.

"I am also ordering an investigation into Ms. Lancaster's unauthorized medical procedures, with potential criminal charges to follow. Finally," she added, fixing Daniel and me with a pointed stare, "I strongly recommend that the two of you formalize your co-parenting arrangement with clear legal parameters to provide stability for all three children."

As we exited the courtroom, Sophie ran to us, throwing her arms around my waist. "Did I do good?" she asked anxiously. "I told the judge everything, just like you said to always tell the truth."

"You did perfectly," Daniel assured her, crouching down to her level. "I'm sorry Victoria hurt you, Sophie. Why didn't you tell us she was taking your blood?"

Sophie looked down. "She said it was to make sure the new medicine was working. And that if I told you, you'd be mad and send me away."

"Oh, sweetheart," I said, kneeling beside Daniel so we flanked our daughter. "We would never send you away. Never."

"No matter what," Daniel added firmly.

Sophie looked between us, her expression serious beyond her years. "Are you two going to stay together now? Like a real mom and dad?"

Daniel and I exchanged a glance over her head, neither of us prepared to answer that complicated question.

"We're both going to be your parents," I said carefully. "Always."

"Together," Daniel added, his gaze still locked with mine. "In whatever way works best for all three of you."

It wasn't a declaration of love or a promise of reconciliation, but as Sophie smiled and the twins ran over to join our little circle, it felt like the beginning of something true—something built on honesty rather than manipulation, on choice rather than coercion.

As we left the courthouse, reporters swarmed the steps, shouting questions about the dramatic courtroom revelations. Daniel stepped forward, his arm around Sophie protectively, the twins flanking me behind him.

"My family has no comment," he said firmly. "Except this: love isn't about blood or genetics or legal documents. It's about showing up, every day, for the people who need you. And that's what we intend to do—show up for each other, every day, from now on."

With that, he turned back to us, taking my hand in a gesture that was as much for the cameras as for ourselves. But as his fingers intertwined with mine, I felt something genuine pass between us—not forgiveness exactly, not yet, but perhaps the foundation for it.