At nine sharp on Monday morning, I put my legal notebook in my tote bag and walked through the double oak doors of Courtroom 3B.

Grant was already seated at the polished mahogany counsel table in his dark gray suit, carefully adjusting the knot of his silk tie.

Richard Hale sat beside him, tapping his gold fountain pen on a yellow notepad, while I sat down by myself at the self-represented litigant’s table across the aisle.

“Your Honor, we’re here on an emergency motion for temporary orders concerning the marital residence and the minor child,” Hale said, rising the moment Judge Rebecca Whitmore took the bench.

Judge Whitmore slid her reading glasses down her nose and looked over the stack of papers on her desk blotter.