"That's not the same as wanting me," Ammani said.
Celeste nodded slowly. "I know."
Deborah reached for Ammani's hand, but didn't pull her back. This moment wasn't hers.
Celeste added, "If the court decides you stay with the Greers, I'll respect that. But I'd still like to visit. No court orders, just you and me. When you're ready."
Ammani studied her face: the kind of stare that wasn't rude, just thorough—the same way she read a document before she trusted what it said.
"Okay," Ammani said. "We'll see."
Celeste took a step back and gave her space.
Later, in the hallway, the caseworker who'd been assigned to Ammani stepped beside her. Her name was Kendra Lawson: mid-30s, glasses always slipping down her nose. She'd seen a lot of cases, but none like this.
"You did something rare in there," Kendra said softly.
Ammani shrugged. "I told the truth."
"Yeah," Kendra said. "But you didn't weaponize it. You used it like a mirror. Made everybody take a look."
Ammani glanced up at her. "That's the only way it works, right?"
Kendra nodded, looking more like a witness than a worker now.
By the time they stepped out into the late afternoon sun, the air felt different: not easier, not clearer, but real. And that mattered. But what came next wouldn't just be up to the court; it would be up to Ammani, too.
Two weeks later, the ruling came in a plain envelope. No bold lettering, no drama, just a name typed neatly across the front: Ammani Jefferson. Inside, the judge's decision was laid out in clear, direct language—no fluff, no loopholes. The court granted permanent guardianship to Deborah and Stan Greer.