Page 18 of Drop the Mitts

Six

Grace

Grace’s knucklesflashed white on the steering wheel. Her stomach had tried to turn itself inside out at least twice since she left the house, and the roads were just icy enough that she couldn’t speed. Driving forty kilometres per hour was veritable torture.

She could handle high-stakes negotiations and multimillion-dollar corporate disputes no problem, but driving to a small, private law firm first thing on a Monday morning was about to send her into cardiac arrest.

The moment she pulled into the parking lot, her pulse lurched. The building was unremarkable, a small, two-story office complex with Patel Family Law labeled on the sign at the entrance, tucked between a dental clinic and tax advisor.

Grace parked, then drew a few deep breaths to steady herself. Apparently, there was a discrepancy in the social worker’s paperwork. It wasn’t necessarily her fault. She just needed to walk in there and be curious. Ask plenty of questions.

She would’ve much preferred if the lawyer would’ve simply sent the evidence over email, but if she were representing the birth mother, this is exactly what she would’ve asked for. An in person meeting was more, well, personal. Tapping into the emotion of it could only help their case. Which was why she had a picture of Hope with Jenna and Country on her phone.

She strode through the glass doors, and a rush of warm air washed over her. The sign on the wall made it easy to figure out where she was going. She turned left down the hall, then entered Suite 2B.

The office was cozy but dated, the reception area neatly arranged with a small coffee station, worn armchairs, and an overstuffed shelf of parenting magazines with curling edges.

Not flashy, but functional. Elton John singing “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” took her back to her elementary school classroom when her class earned a Friday movie afternoon. She could practically smell the popcorn.

A woman behind the desk—mid-fifties, wearing a navy blazer and gold studs—looked up and smiled. “You must be Ms. Fairbanks.”

Grace blinked. “Yes. I’m a bit early.”

“Not a problem. Mr. Patel is expecting you.” The receptionist rose, leading Grace down a narrow hallway lined with framed photos of smiling children and families. Grace’s stomach coiled tighter.

They reached the last door, and Grace saw her through the glass. The birth mother. Amey. She was younger than she’d expected. Maybe nineteen? Barely twenty? Thin. Pale. Dark circles beneath her eyes.

Her hair was strawberry blonde, and she wore a hoodie that swallowed her frame. Their eyes met for one brief, electric second, and Grace felt everything at once.

The receptionist opened the door and gave a gentle nod. Grace exhaled and stepped into the room.

“Good morning.” The lawyer, Neel Patel, was a calm, measured man in his forties with kind eyes. He jumped up and rounded the table to meet her. “Thank you so much for coming down this morning.”

“Of course.” Grace shook his hand, then sat at the table across from Amey.

Neel motioned between the two of them. “I’m sure you’ve gathered, but this is Amey. Amey, this is Ms. Fairbanks.”

Amey nodded once.

“Let’s get right to it, shall we?” Neel reached for a folder and slid it across the table to her, then sat in the rolling chair beside Amey. "The issue is simple, Ms. Fairbanks," Neel said smoothly, folding his hands on the table. "The consent my client gave may not be legally valid because she wasn’t properly informed of her right to revoke within ten days."

Grace exhaled slowly. "You’re saying the social worker didn’t tell her?"

Neel nodded. “Correct. There’s no record of that conversation taking place. No signed acknowledgment, no audio, no written note in the case file. Nothing.”

Grace turned her gaze to Amey, studying her. The woman didn’t look malicious. She looked . . . raw. Grace couldn’t blame her for the regret. But that didn’t mean she was right.

"Amey, you signed a legally binding document." Grace kept her voice steady, even. "You acknowledged that decision in front of a witness. You held Hope, kissed her goodbye, and said you knew this was best for her."

A flicker of pain crossed Amey’s face. Neel didn’t react.

"But if the court believes you weren’t properly informed of the revocation period, that could change things," Graceadmitted, keeping her tone neutral even though everything inside her was screaming.

"That’s the argument we’ll be making," Neel said smoothly. "That Amey was not given full and proper information before consenting, which could render the adoption invalid."

Grace’s fingers curled against her notepad. This was bad. Not impossible, not a guarantee of loss—but bad. If the judge bought this argument, even just enough to consider a full review, it could drag Country and Jenna into months of legal battles, uncertainty, and worst of all, the possibility of losing Hope.

Because Grace knew one thing for sure. No matter how airtight she made her counterargument, no matter how solid her legal defence was, no judge wanted to be the one who took a child away from their birth mother if they could find a legal reason not to.

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