Court of Thorns
1633 Words
Chapter Four: Court of Thorns
The courthouse was cold.
Not from the marble or air-conditioning—but from betrayal.
Catherine sat on the plaintiff’s side, her lawyer beside her, her parents in the gallery, and her two children safe with a trusted nanny. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the documents: k********g. attempted murder. conspiracy.
The charges were clear.
Michelle had stolen her child.
She had lied to the hospital, bribed a nurse, and tried to erase a newborn from existence.
Catherine would make her pay.
She had filed everything. Her legal team was confident—until Ronan stepped into the witness box.
Catherine looked up sharply as the bailiff swore him in.
Ronan looked tired. More tired than she had ever seen him.
But not remorseful.
“Mr. Alaric,” the judge began, “do you acknowledge your wife, Catherine Alaric, was not made aware of the switch of her biological child?”
“Yes,” Ronan said quietly.
“And that your mistress, Michelle Reyes, was involved in this switch?”
He paused.
Catherine’s heartbeat pounded in her ears.
“She… acted under duress,” he said.
“What?” Catherine whispered.
“She didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Ronan added. “The doctors told us our daughter didn’t survive. I—I agreed to keep that from Catherine.
She was emotionally unstable after the birth. I made the decision to keep the truth from her, to protect her.”
“She was not unstable!” her lawyer shouted
.
The judge banged the gavel. “Order!”
Catherine’s mouth fell open, her voice shaking as she rose to her feet. “You’re saying you made the decision to hide my daughter from me? To let me raise your son without consent?!”
Ronan looked at her, conflicted. “I thought it was for your own good.”
“You didn’t even ask me!” she screamed.
“I had the right,” Ronan said quietly. “You were still recovering. I’m your husband. I made the medical decisions.”
“You had the legal right to erase my child?” she cried.
The judge looked uncomfortable. “Given the testimony and the absence of direct evidence linking Michelle Reyes to premeditated harm, the court has no grounds to pursue the k********g or attempted murder charges. The plaintiff may pursue civil action, but criminal charges are dismissed.”
“No… no, no, no,” Catherine muttered, stumbling back. “You can’t let her walk free. She planned this. She paid someone. She abandoned her own son!”
Michelle smirked from her seat.
And Ronan?
He looked down.
Coward.
Catherine turned to the judge, her voice hoarse but full of fire. “Then I demand full custody of both children. I demand a divorce. And I want a restraining order placed on Ronan and Michelle Reyes.”
“We’ll begin those hearings immediately,” the judge confirmed.
But Catherine already knew.
This wasn’t over.
The courtroom emptied slowly.
Catherine remained seated long after the judge exited, staring blankly ahead while her lawyer gathered their papers. Her parents whispered beside her, concerned, but she didn’t hear them.
Her heartbeat was drowned out by Michelle’s smirk. By Ronan’s silence. By the sound of justice breaking in half.
And somewhere behind her, Michelle laughed softly.
Outside the courthouse, in the shadowed corridor near the parking garage, Michelle leaned against a pillar. The light of the setting sun hit her face in stripes through the blinds, casting golden bars across her smooth skin.
She knew he’d come.
Ronan’s footsteps echoed on the concrete floor as he approached, loosened tie swinging at his chest, brow still damp with courtroom sweat.
“Couldn’t resist gloating?” he muttered.
Michelle tilted her head, her lips twitching in amusement. “I didn’t gloat. I smiled. Difference.”
“You’re lucky you’re not in jail.”
She stepped forward slowly, arms crossing under her chest. “No, Ronan. I’m lucky you still care.”
He frowned. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” she asked innocently, voice silk. “Tell the truth?”
His jaw clenched. “This wasn’t easy for me.”
“Oh, poor baby.” She stepped closer, lifting one hand to lightly trace his lapel. “You sat on that stand and played the concerned husband card so well. I almost believed it myself.”
He caught her wrist. “This isn't a game, Michelle. Catherine hates me now. I have no legal right to either child.”
Michelle shrugged, her eyes smoldering. “So? You’ve got me. And we’re not in jail. I’d call that a win.”
He dropped her hand, voice tight. “You don’t get it. I loved her. I didn’t want it to end like this.”
“You loved her,” Michelle repeated bitterly. “Past tense. You were mine the minute you let me kiss you in that hotel room. Don’t act brand-new now.”
Ronan ran a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping. “This mess... I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Michelle stepped closer until they were almost chest to chest. Her breath was warm against his jaw as she whispered, “You’re the man who covered for me. The man who chose me.”
“I didn’t choose—” he started, but she silenced him with a finger pressed gently to his lips.
“You did,” she said softly. “Maybe not back then. But today? In that courtroom? You chose. And I never forget who fights for me.”
Her lips brushed his cheek, slow and deliberate.
Ronan didn’t move.
“Maybe one day you’ll thank me,” Michelle murmured. “Now you’re free. No more perfect wife. No more fake marriage. Just you and me, Ronan. Like it should’ve been all along.”
She turned on her heel and walked toward her car, hips swaying like the world belonged to her.
And Ronan?
He stood there for a long time.
Broken. Torn. And no longer able to pretend he was the victim.
Back at her apartment, Catherine paced the nursery.
The walls were painted soft lavender—chosen in another life, one she thought would be filled with bedtime stories, lullabies, and love. But tonight, the room felt like a shell, echoing with everything she had lost and everything she was still struggling to hold.
Her daughter lay quiet in her arms, eyes closed in peaceful sleep, her tiny lips fluttering as she dreamed. The boy—Michelle’s son—slept nearby in a portable crib. He looked just like Ronan. That same furrowed brow. That same stubborn jaw. She had raised him for a year.
And now?
Now she could barely breathe.
Catherine stood still beside the crib, rocking her daughter gently, and stared at the boy.
Unaware.
Innocent.
His little chest rose and fell in soft, rhythmic sighs. A part of her wanted to hate him—wanted to scream that he didn’t belong to her. But the truth was…
He had smiled at her this morning when she fed him.
He had reached for her when he cried.
He had called her Mama before she even knew the truth.
Her throat tightened. Her arms trembled.
And then the words came, soft at first.
“Why couldn’t you fight for me?”
She blinked, lips trembling, as her voice cracked and broke.
“Why couldn’t you at least pretend I mattered?”
Her daughter stirred slightly, sensing her mother’s shaking.
Catherine stepped back and sat on the nursery chair, curling over her baby, the tears falling faster now, soaking the pink blanket between them.
“I gave you everything,” she whispered, voice growing more anguished. “I forgave you when I shouldn’t have. I stayed when you disappeared.
I loved you through the silence, the gaslighting, the lies—God, Ronan, I loved you.”
Her mother’s voice drifted from the living room, calm and composed, as she handled legal strategy on Catherine’s behalf.
But Catherine’s composure was gone.
“He stood there,” she said aloud, eyes burning with betrayal, “in front of a judge, in front of me, and he picked her. The woman who stole my child. The woman who looked me in the eyes and let me grieve my baby.”
She clenched her jaw, rocking her daughter faster now, trying to soothe her own spiraling mind.
“He could’ve admitted it. He could’ve taken responsibility. For once, he could’ve done something that didn’t protect Michelle—but he didn’t. Because I was never worth it to him. Not really.”
She let out a bitter, broken laugh, more breath than sound.
“I was convenient. Loyal. Safe. And when I broke? He liked it. He liked me small.”
The boy stirred in the crib. She stood and walked to him, brushing a hand over his hair.
“You didn’t ask for this,” she murmured softly. “None of this is your fault. I know that.”
She swallowed.
“I’m going to raise you. If Michelle doesn’t want you, I’ll do it. Because someone has to love you enough to stay.”
Her voice cracked again.
“But I won’t ever forget what your father did. How little he thought of me. How quickly he chose her, even after everything she did.”
The boy sighed and turned his head toward her touch.
And Catherine—still shattered, still grieving—leaned over both children and whispered,
“I don’t know how to heal from this. But I will. I swear to you, I will. And when I do, I’ll never let anyone treat me like I’m disposable again.”
- Writer
