The evaluation, counseling, and future hearings would not magically erase the problems that had brought us into court.
But that night, Ethan knew where he was sleeping.
His school folder was already on the counter.
His father’s photograph still stood beside the refrigerator.
And for the first time since David died, nobody was asking a grieving twelve-year-old to perform somebody else’s version of what he wanted.
He had spoken for himself.
The court had listened.
