“Can I show him?” he asked me.

“Yes, baby. Show him.”

A court officer, a tall woman with a gentle face, walked over. She knelt beside Nolan and helped him hold the fabric taut so the judge could see.

Inside the shirt, written along the hem in faded, uneven blue permanent marker, were words in a child’s blocky handwriting.

MY MOM MAKES OUR SMALL HOME FEEL LIKE THE WHOLE WORLD.

Tears spilled over my lashes and tracked hot down my cheeks. I’d washed that shirt dozens of times, scrubbing at the stains on the outside, blind to the declaration of love hidden on the inside.