imagine.
Sure, they can rule against me. That’s a definite present fear.
What’s scarier?
He knows exactly when and where I’ll be. He’s been served with the papers, unlike his order.
I don’t know what I fear more, him showing up at court, or him waiting outside to follow me and take matters into his own hands.
See, this guy has never played by anyone’s rules but his own. I watched him work the system for five years on probation. He had the means to show up here once. What’s going to keep him away now?
Sometimes life can be scary. Really scary. This is one of those times. Only I know how strong I am now. My self-doubt may be righteous in many aspects, but I know how much strength I hold. What I’m capable of.
I’ll do anything for my kids. Including risk my life to secure they’re safe.
And if he does want to show up—in any way, shape, or form—I’ll be ready.
5 weeks ago (court date)…
I don’t know why I picked a stupid button up fucking shirt to wear. My hands tremble and make buttoning it up damn near impossible.
The poor dogs follow me around, feeding off my nervous energy. I keep assuring them that I’m okay, but I’m still a horrible liar.
They can both see right through me.
It’s about a twenty minute drive to the courthouse and my chest tightens with every mile. What happens if he’s there? What happens if he’s waiting for me when it’s over? What will happen in court itself? I’ve sure as fuck never done this before.
The walk from my car to the courthouse doors is perhaps the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I step inside and go through security. They direct me down the hall once I clear it. My lawyer waits for me in a small conference room.
“I’ll be honest…I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen.” She tells me. “And that’s not something I like to say, but your case is so particular and rare.”
“That’s okay.” I assure her. My focus is on the contents of the file folder on the table. It’s open.
I’ve only ever seen the pictures on my phone before—not blown up in full paper size. It takes a moment before I can pull my eyes away.
“Any other questions?” She asks.
“No, I think that’s it.”
They call us into the courtroom. My lawyer directs me to a chair next to her at a table in front of the room. There’s a microphone at the chair. Nobody else in in the room besides us, but it’s still an imposing sight.
“All rise.”
The judge enters and again the voice in my head asks wtf we’re going to do if they rule against me. My lawyer does all the talking.
I barely breathe while I wait.
“The court dictates full custody to the mother at this time. Should the father want to pursue visitation, it’ll have to be done through the courts with supervised visits,” The judge rules.
Relief.
That’s all I feel. That’s the wetness that streams from my eyes down my face. No matter what happens now, those kids are safe.
And that’s all that matters.
The judge adjourns the case and I thank my lawyer profusely. I can tell that she feels the relief, too. She’d told me a story early on about a similar case she had when she first began to practice—only backwards. The child in that case paid with their life. She told me right away that she was so glad we escaped when we did. She promises to mail me the order as soon as possible. I ask if it’s safe to drive my own car again and she laughs.
“Absolutely,” She tells me. “And once you have that order, keep it on you at all times.”
“Definitely,” I agree.
I walk past security with a lump in my throat. Apparently a judge doesn’t think I’m crazy or delusional—or any of my evidence. Knowing the kids are safe is worth having it all out there. No matter how embarrassing it all is.
So far the day couldn’t be going better—but it’s not over yet. I still have to make it out of here safely and ensure that no one follows me. It seems paranoid and maybe I am. But if
Sure, they can rule against me. That’s a definite present fear.
What’s scarier?
He knows exactly when and where I’ll be. He’s been served with the papers, unlike his order.
I don’t know what I fear more, him showing up at court, or him waiting outside to follow me and take matters into his own hands.
See, this guy has never played by anyone’s rules but his own. I watched him work the system for five years on probation. He had the means to show up here once. What’s going to keep him away now?
Sometimes life can be scary. Really scary. This is one of those times. Only I know how strong I am now. My self-doubt may be righteous in many aspects, but I know how much strength I hold. What I’m capable of.
I’ll do anything for my kids. Including risk my life to secure they’re safe.
And if he does want to show up—in any way, shape, or form—I’ll be ready.
5 weeks ago (court date)…
I don’t know why I picked a stupid button up fucking shirt to wear. My hands tremble and make buttoning it up damn near impossible.
The poor dogs follow me around, feeding off my nervous energy. I keep assuring them that I’m okay, but I’m still a horrible liar.
They can both see right through me.
It’s about a twenty minute drive to the courthouse and my chest tightens with every mile. What happens if he’s there? What happens if he’s waiting for me when it’s over? What will happen in court itself? I’ve sure as fuck never done this before.
The walk from my car to the courthouse doors is perhaps the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I step inside and go through security. They direct me down the hall once I clear it. My lawyer waits for me in a small conference room.
“I’ll be honest…I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen.” She tells me. “And that’s not something I like to say, but your case is so particular and rare.”
“That’s okay.” I assure her. My focus is on the contents of the file folder on the table. It’s open.
I’ve only ever seen the pictures on my phone before—not blown up in full paper size. It takes a moment before I can pull my eyes away.
“Any other questions?” She asks.
“No, I think that’s it.”
They call us into the courtroom. My lawyer directs me to a chair next to her at a table in front of the room. There’s a microphone at the chair. Nobody else in in the room besides us, but it’s still an imposing sight.
“All rise.”
The judge enters and again the voice in my head asks wtf we’re going to do if they rule against me. My lawyer does all the talking.
I barely breathe while I wait.
“The court dictates full custody to the mother at this time. Should the father want to pursue visitation, it’ll have to be done through the courts with supervised visits,” The judge rules.
Relief.
That’s all I feel. That’s the wetness that streams from my eyes down my face. No matter what happens now, those kids are safe.
And that’s all that matters.
The judge adjourns the case and I thank my lawyer profusely. I can tell that she feels the relief, too. She’d told me a story early on about a similar case she had when she first began to practice—only backwards. The child in that case paid with their life. She told me right away that she was so glad we escaped when we did. She promises to mail me the order as soon as possible. I ask if it’s safe to drive my own car again and she laughs.
“Absolutely,” She tells me. “And once you have that order, keep it on you at all times.”
“Definitely,” I agree.
I walk past security with a lump in my throat. Apparently a judge doesn’t think I’m crazy or delusional—or any of my evidence. Knowing the kids are safe is worth having it all out there. No matter how embarrassing it all is.
So far the day couldn’t be going better—but it’s not over yet. I still have to make it out of here safely and ensure that no one follows me. It seems paranoid and maybe I am. But if
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