He moved into a sleek downtown condo, married a well-known television personality, and surrounded himself with comforts I could never afford. Meanwhile, I focused on raising our twelve-year-old daughter, Andrea, in our modest home filled with thrifted furniture and shared spaces. At first, I tried not to compare our worlds.
But soon, Andrea began returning from visits with expensive gifts: a new phone, stylish clothes, concert tickets, and promises of her own room and private bathroom if she chose to live with him. I stayed quiet, not wanting to appear resentful, yet I saw subtle changes in my daughter — not rebellion, but uncertainty. She began to wonder aloud if life might be easier in her father’s world of abundance.
Then came the custody hearing.
I knew the judge would consider Andrea’s wishes, and my ex was confident she would choose him. The night before court, Andrea slipped a folded stack of papers into her hoodie pocket. I didn’t ask questions; I was too anxious about the day ahead.
Continue reading…
