The jury was out under two hours. He was convicted of aggravated assault and sentenced to three years in state prison.

Time did its slow work. In the months after, Corey changed — painfully and, as far as I could tell, honestly. He came to every supervised visit with Ivy.

He didn’t make excuses. He didn’t complain.

At one handover, looking hollowed out, he said, “I started therapy, Dani. I’ve gone no contact with my mother. I finally see what she is. I see what I let happen.”

I believed him. It came from real reflection rather than performance. It also arrived far too late to rebuild anything. Some bridges leave ash you can’t put a foundation on.

He eventually earned modestly expanded, still-monitored time with Ivy through court-approved modifications, and he never spoke his mother’s name in front of me again.