Zaden, my brave little boy, stood up from the bench. His face was a portrait of resolve far beyond his years, a mix of innocence and determination. He glanced at me, his eyes assuring me silently that he knew what he was doing. Then he turned to face the judge, clearing his throat softly before he spoke.
“Your Honor, may I play the recording from last night?” he asked, gripping his phone with a steadiness that belied his age.
The judge, taken aback, paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the request. The courtroom hung on this moment, every breath held in anticipation. Finally, he nodded, curiosity piqued. “You may,” he said, gesturing for Zaden to proceed.
As Zaden unlocked his phone and navigated to the recording, I felt a surge of pride mixed with anxiety. What had Damian said to him? My heart ached at the thought of my son having to bear witness to whatever manipulation had taken place the night before.
With a determined breath, Zaden pressed play. The recording crackled to life, the sound echoing sharply in the stillness of the courtroom. Damian’s voice emerged, loud and clear, dripping with the false charm I’d come to loathe.
“Zaden, you know you’ll have more fun at my place. We can play all the video games you want,” Damian’s voice coaxed, the underlying pressure almost tangible. “Just tell them you want to live with me. It’s easy.”
Then, a softer voice, small but firm, followed. “But I don’t want to leave Mom,” Zaden’s recorded voice replied, a hint of fear and confusion threading through his words.
Damian’s tone shifted, impatience creeping in. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine. Just say what I told you, alright?”
The recording ended, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. I watched as expressions shifted across the room—the judge’s face tightening, Damian’s smugness melting into shock, and the murmurs from the audience growing louder, a wave of disbelief and indignation.
The judge leaned forward, his voice clear and authoritative. “Mr. Carter, would you care to explain this?” he asked Damian, whose composure was quickly crumbling.
Damian stumbled for words, his confidence evaporating under the judge’s scrutinizing gaze. “I, um, it was just a misunderstanding,” he stammered, desperation seeping into his voice. “I didn’t mean—”
The judge raised a hand to silence him, turning his attention back to Zaden. “Thank you for your honesty, Zaden. It’s very brave of you to share this with us.”
Zaden nodded, a small smile breaking through his earlier tension. He sat back down, leaning against me, and I wrapped an arm around him. Relief washed over me, and I whispered a quiet “thank you” in his ear.
The judge continued, his voice firm and resolute. “In light of this evidence, I see no reason to alter the current custody arrangement. It’s imperative that we prioritize the child’s welfare, and it’s clear where Zaden feels most secure.”
As the gavel fell, signaling the end of the hearing, I felt a tremendous weight lift off my shoulders. Damian glared at me, but his defeat was evident. I hugged Zaden tighter, knowing that today he had not only defended himself but had also strengthened the bond we shared. This battle was over, and we had won, together.
In court, my ex said, “my son wants to live with me.” the judge asked
