Page 32 of Truck Hard

“Mr. Fisher.” The judge’s voice cracks like a whip. “One more outburst and you’ll be held in contempt. Am I clear?”

His father reaches out and pulls at Charlie’s arm. He subsides, but his eyes burn with barely contained rage. I shift forward, ready to move if those chains aren’t enough to hold him.

“The defendant will be granted supervised visitation rights upon completion of his current sentence and mandatory anger management courses.” Judge Matthews adjusts her glasses. “Furthermore, I order monthly child support payments of two thousand three hundred dollars, plus alimony of sixty-five hundred dollars, to commence immediately from Mr. Fisher’s assets.”

“This is bullshit!” Charlie explodes, chains rattling as he lurches to his feet. “She’s lying! She’s nothing but trailer trash who—”

“Mr. Fisher!” The judge pounds her gavel. “You are in contempt, and fined ten thousand dollars. Bailiff, remove the defendant!”

Charlie struggles against the bailiffs, spewing vitriol. “You think you’ve won? This isn’t over! That boy isn’t even mine—tell them, Hannah! Tell them how you spread your legs for—”

Cam bolts from his seat, shoving past Hannah’s reaching hands. He runs for the doors, shoulders heaving with sobs.

My son. This time the thought propels me into action.

I’m on my feet and moving before conscious thought takes hold, shouldering past spectators and ignoring the continued commotion behind me. My dress shoes slip slightly on the polished floor as I burst into the hallway.

Cam stands near a window, forehead pressed against the glass, shoulders shaking. The sight stops me cold. How many times did I stand just like that after Mom died? How many times did I hide my tears, trying to be strong for everyone else?

I approach slowly, giving him time to hear my footsteps. “Hey, kid.”

He stiffens but doesn’t turn around. “Go away.”

“Can’t do that.” I move closer, close enough to see his reflection in the glass. Tears streak his cheeks, but his jaw is set in that stubborn way I know too well. “Not when you’re hurting.”

“Why do you care?” His voice cracks. “You never cared before.”

That hurts but I don’t let it stop me. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He whirls to face me, eyes blazing. “Where were you? All those years, where were you when he—when he—” His voice breaks and fresh tears spill over.

“Cam.” I drop to one knee, bringing us eye to eye. “I didn’t know. About any of it. If I had—”

“Is it true?” He cuts me off. “What he said in there. Are you...” He swallows hard. “Are you my real dad?”

The moment stretches between us, heavy with thirteen years of secrets and lies. I could deny it. Could give him time to process everything else before adding this burden. But I’ve hidden from the truth long enough.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” The words come out rough. I clear my throat and try again. “But Cam, I swear I didn’t know until afew months ago. When I saw you that night, the night your mom almost—” I stop, unable to say the words out loud.

His eyes search my face, looking for lies or excuses. I force myself to meet that gaze, to let him see the raw truth in my eyes.

“You look just like me,” I say softly. “If only I’d met you sooner. Maybe I would’ve seen it. Should have asked questions, should have—”

“You’re just like him.” Cam’s voice is barely a whisper. “Charlie. You both left us.”

The comparison hits like a knife to the gut. Because he’s right. In running away from my fears, in pushing Hannah toward Charlie, I’d abandoned them both. Just like my father abandoned us after Mom died.

“You’re right.” I fight to keep my voice steady. “I screwed up. Made the biggest mistake of my life when I let your mom go. But Cam.” I reach for his shoulder, relieved when he doesn’t pull away. “I’m here now. And I want to make it right, if you’ll let me.”

He stares at me for a long moment, tears still sliding down his cheeks. “I don’t know if I can.”

“That’s okay.” My heart aches, but I force a smile. “We can take it slow. Whatever you need.”

Footsteps approach—Hannah, looking shaken but determined. “Cam? Honey, are you okay?”

He nods, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Can we go home?”

“Of course.” She wraps an arm around his shoulders, then looks at me. Something passes between us—understanding, maybe. Or forgiveness. “I should get him home. It’s been... a lot.”

---