Chapter 1
Ten years ago
Fairfax County Juvenile and Domestic Relations District
Court of Virginia
Nina Esperanza gazed up at the man who held her fate in his hands. Judge Albert McIntyre perused the submitted documents in silence. She forced her foot to stop jiggling beneath the long oak table and schooled her features into what she hoped passed for a polite expression. The papers had been filed, the testimony had ended—only the ruling remained.
The judge stopped reading to eye her, taking her measure before he spoke. “I am prepared to finalize your petition to the court, but before I do, I want to be sure you are clear about the consequences of this decision. This ruling cannot be reversed. You will have full responsibility for any actions you take or agreements you enter into from now on.”
Nina’s guardian ad litem, Cal Withers, dug a finger into his shirt collar. “She accepts the terms, Your Honor.”
Withers was the attorney appointed by the court to represent Nina’s interests. At seventeen years old, she could not petition the court on her own. His silver hair, deep-set wrinkles, and calm efficiency spoke of experience. His careworn expression bore witness to years spent wrangling with an unpredictable juvenile court system that could either render or miscarry justice depending on the circumstances.
The judge flicked a glance at Withers before directing his next words to the girl whose life he was about to irrevocably change. “I understand why you are petitioning this court for emancipation. Especially given your current situation.”
The few people allowed to attend the closed hearing shifted in their seats, but Nina refused to shrink down in her chair. After what had happened, she’d made a private vow never to go back into the system. If the judge didn’t rule in her favor, she would run away again. And this time, no one would find her until she had passed her eighteenth birthday.
“You have demonstrated that you can support yourself,” Judge McIntyre said. “But what are your plans going forward? Do you have a goal for the future?”
Withers spoke before she could answer. “Your Honor, the paperwork we filed shows an early acceptance to George Mason University. She’s also been awarded a scholarship and grant money to assist with tuition. She has a part-time job and will live in a dorm on campus where she—”
The judge held up an age-spotted hand. “I would like to hear the young lady speak for herself.”
Withers had tried to intervene, to spare her this moment. He and her caseworker had counseled her before the hearing. If the judge asked about her career plans, they had advised her to give a touching speech about how she had considered becoming a nurse, teaching kindergarten, or joining the Peace Corps. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. She had contemplated those options. For about a nanosecond. Then she’d realized what she should do with the rest of her life. But would the judge accept her choice?
Under the table, Withers nudged her foot with his. She knew what he wanted her to say. Then again, she’d never done anything just because someone said she should. Probably why she’d bounced from one foster home to another.
Coming to a decision, she squared her shoulders and opted for the truth. “I’m entering the criminal justice program at GMU. After graduation, I’ll join the police department, work my way to detective, and spend the rest of my career putting monsters who prey on children behind bars.”
Withers scrubbed a palm over his face. The county caseworker shook her head.
Nina ignored their reactions, focusing her attention on the judge. “Is that far enough into the future, sir?”
Judge McIntyre narrowed his eyes. “You’ll continue with counseling?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Circumstances have made you very independent at an early age, Ms. Esperanza,” Judge McIntyre said. “But you must allow others to help you when you need it. Remember that.”
The courtroom fell silent. Every eye was trained on the judge. Waiting.
Her frayed nerves stretched to the breaking point. Had she just made him doubt she could deal with what had happened to her? Her breath caught.
After an eternity, his deep voice broke the silence. “I will grant the petition.”
She exhaled with a long sigh.
“Now for the remaining matter.” The smile died on her lips as the judge continued in a somber tone. “The petition for a name change.” He held up a notarized document. “You are requesting to change your name from Nina Esperanza to Nina Guerrera. The filing indicates that you wish to choose a name rather than continue to use the one assigned to you. You could do this when you turn eighteen next year, why the rush?”
Withers found his voice. “Your Honor, my client was given her current legal name by her original caseworker when it became clear adoption would be”—he cast her an apologetic glance—“unlikely.”
Her gaze drifted down to her clasped hands. As a little girl, she was not among those with bouncy blonde curls and bright blue eyes. She did not have porcelain skin or rosy cheeks. The caseworkers never referred to her as sweet or shy. Instead, she overheard snatches of conversation peppered with words like headstrong and willful. She may not have fully grasped their meaning at the time, but she knew these terms—along with her dark hair, brown eyes, and tan skin—set her apart from the other girls. The girls who got adopted.
Withers rushed to fill the awkward silence. “She had no say in the matter and believes the occasion of her emancipation from the guardianship of the Commonwealth of Virginia is the appropriate time to choose a name that reflects her new course.”
The judge raised a bushy gray brow at her. “Your new course?”
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Do you speak Spanish, sir?”
“I do not.”
She drew in a deep breath. Full disclosure was her best option. “I tracked down my very first caseworker from when I entered the system seventeen years ago.”
The judge’s expression darkened. “I’m aware of the . . . circumstances.”
Circumstances. A detached clinical term designed to protect her feelings. The judge probably thought he was being kind, but he couldn’t whitewash it.
She had been left to die in a dumpster when she was a month old.
Nina swallowed the lump in her throat and went on. “Her name is Myrna Gonzales. She told me I’d originally been called Baby Jane Doe. She wanted me to have an ethnically appropriate name, so she called me Nina, the English version of niña, which means ‘girl’ in Spanish. She also hoped I would be one of the kids who has a happy ending. That I would be adopted by a loving family, so she named me Esperanza, which means ‘hope.’” The lump in her throat expanded, straining her last words. “I didn’t get that happy ending.”
“No,” Judge McIntyre said. “You did not.”
He didn’t attempt to patronize her, which she appreciated.
“But why Guerrera?” He wanted to know.
“In Spanish, guerrero means ‘warrior’ or ‘fighter,’ and guerrera—with an a on the end—refers to a female.”
The judge took a moment to digest her words before his eyes reflected comprehension. “Warrior girl.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “I’ve given up on hope,” she said quietly, then lifted her chin. “From now on, I fight.”