“I would like permission to read what she wrote to him on that afternoon,” I requested from the magistrate.

Judge Lawson nodded his approval without speaking, adjusting his glasses while the courtroom remained entirely silent.

“Dear Mr.

Callahan, please stop trying to hand my children twenty dollar bills whenever I bring over a bowl of soup,” I read aloud.

“My little ones feel so much comfort knowing that we are keeping an eye on our dearest neighbor, and we want you to know that you are considered true family under our roof.”

The judge looked slightly puzzled by the timeline and tilted his head toward the elderly veteran.