In a Hartford Courtroom, Grant Wanted the House Until a Little Purple Toy Started Playing
“The referee Judge Whitmore appointed has the accounting schedule,” I said.
“We could spread the cash payments out over two years,” Grant said.
“For Sophie’s sake.”
“Sophie’s future is protected by the court order,” I said.
I picked up Sophie’s little pink canvas coat from the wooden bench and zipped it up to her chin.
“We’re going home now, Sophie,” I said, taking her small hand as we walked out into the crisp Connecticut afternoon sun.
At eight o’clock Saturday morning, bright yellow autumn sunlight filled the kitchen of the West Hartford house.
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