[Cassian’s POV]

The ruling comes on January 15th, three weeks before Sophie’s due date.

We’re gathered in Diana’s conference room—Sophie, Adrian, and me—waiting for news that will shape the rest of our lives. The tension is a physical presence in the room, thick enough to choke on, pressing against my chest with every breath. The air itself feels heavy, weighted with months of accumulated fear and hope and desperate prayer. Sophie’s hands rest on her enormous belly, her knuckles white with the pressure of her grip. I can see the fine tremor running through her fingers, the way she’s holding herself together through sheer force of will.

Adrian hasn’t stopped pacing since we arrived, his footsteps wearing a path in the expensive carpet. Each pass he makes feels like a countdown, a metronome marking time until everything changes.

I sit still because someone has to. Because falling apart isn’t an option when the people I love need me to be steady. But inside, my heart is racing, my thoughts churning through every possible outcome.

The analytical part of my brain tries to calculate probabilities, assess likely scenarios, but the numbers keep scattering, overwhelmed by emotion I can’t seem to control. My palms are sweating. My jaw aches from clenching. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, ready for a blow that might never come—or might shatter everything we’ve built.

Diana enters with a manila folder and an expression I can’t read. The door clicking shut behind her sounds impossibly loud in the silence. My heart stutters, fear and hope colliding in my chest with a force that makes me dizzy. Time seems to slow, each second stretching into eternity as she crosses to the table.

“The judge has ruled,” she says, setting the folder on the table with careful precision. “In our favor. Substantially.”

The words take a moment to penetrate the haze of anxiety. In our favor. We won. The syllables echo in my mind, foreign and strange, refusing to resolve into meaning. In our favor. We won. We actually won.

Sophie makes a sound—half sob, half laugh—and covers her mouth with her hands. The cry that escapes her is raw, primal, the release of something she’s been holding back for months. Tears are already streaming down her face, cutting tracks through the exhaustion that’s become her constant companion. Her whole body shakes with the force of her emotion, and I watch her crumble and rebuild in the same breath.

Adrian stops pacing, frozen, like he can’t quite process what he’s hearing. His face is a study in disbelief—mouth slightly open, eyes wide, the color slowly returning to cheeks that have been gray with stress for weeks. He looks like a man who’s been told he’s been pardoned moments before execution, unable to trust the reprieve.

“What does that mean exactly?” I ask, needing specifics, needing something concrete to hold onto. My voice comes out steadier than I feel, the words automatic, my brain clinging to facts like a life raft.

“It means the court has found sufficient evidence to support claims of harassment and intentional interference with Dr. Lewis’s professional opportunities. Dr. Vaughn has been ordered to cease all contact with Dr. Lewis and his family. She’s also facing significant financial penalties and a permanent mark on her professional record.”

“She can’t appeal?”

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