The courtroom felt heavier than usual that morning.
My ex stood confidently beside his attorney, claiming that our eight-year-old son wanted to live with him.
The judge listened, then turned to little Zaden, who sat with his feet dangling off the big wooden chair.
“Do you know why you’re here today?” the judge asked gently.
Zaden nodded, eyes dropping to his shoes. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe.
“And can you tell me what you want?”
He hesitated, swung his legs once, and in the softest voice said:
“I just… I just want everyone to stop fighting.”
In that moment, the entire room fell silent. His words weren’t an accusation—just a child’s honest plea. A truth spoken with more courage than all of us adults combined.
