The courtroom was quiet, not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful, but the kind that makes your heart thump louder than it should.
My son, Zaden, sat just a few feet away from me, his little legs swinging off the edge of the wooden bench.
He was only eight, but his face was older that day, like he’d aged in the minutes we’d been sitting there.
Damian, my ex-husband, stood tall beside his lawyer. He wore that same smirk he always did when he thought he was winning.
He looked straight ahead, not at me, not at our son.
In court, my ex said, “my son wants to live with me.” the judge asked my son, “is that true?” my son stood up, pulled out his phone, and asked, “may I play the recording from last night?” the judge froze.
The courtroom was quiet, not the peaceful kind, but the kind where you can hear the blood drumming in your own ears. My son, Zaden, sat just a few feet away, his little legs swinging off the edge of the wooden bench. He was only eight, but his face was older today. Damian, my ex-husband, stood tall beside his lawyer. He wore an expensive suit and that same smirk he always did when he thought he was winning.
The judge adjusted his glasses, flipped through a few papers, and finally looked up. “Mr. Carter, you’re asking for a change in custody. You’ve told this court your son has expressed a desire to live with you. Is that correct?”
Damian nodded confidently. “Yes, Your Honor. Zaden told me he’s not comfortable in his current living situation. He wants to live with me full-time.”
My stomach turned to ice. I looked at Zaden.
His hands were folded tightly in his lap. The judge’s next question landed in the silent room like a dropped stone, its ripples spreading, cold and terrifying.
“Zaden,” he said gently, “is that true, son? Do you want to live with your father?”
Everything inside me stopped. Don’t ask him. Please, don’t make him choose in front of this monster. I wanted to scream, but my throat was dust.
