The courtroom felt different that morning — not loud, not chaotic, but heavy. The kind of heavy that sits in the air and makes every tiny sound feel sharper than it should. Custody hearings are never easy, but the tension that day felt like it was holding the walls in place.
My ex, Damian, stood there with a confidence that almost filled the room. He spoke firmly, insisting that our eight-year-old son wanted to live with him full-time. His attorney nodded along as if the decision had already been made.
But then the judge turned to Zaden.
My son sat on the bench with his legs dangling above the floor, trying to look older than he was. He had that determined little crease between his brows — the one that always appears when he’s trying to be brave.
Then he quietly asked the judge if he could play a recording.
Just like that, the entire room shifted. Even the clerks paused. You could almost feel the stillness settle in, waiting.
The judge agreed.
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