Chapter 7 - WHAT MY CHILDREN TOLD THE JUDGE
Camille fought for access to Jack and Rosie.
That surprised everyone except Naomi.
Her attorneys claimed the abuse videos were manipulated.
They argued she had been imposing reasonable discipline.
They claimed Naomi edited context.
Then Camille demanded visitation.
“Why?” I asked Agent Park.
“Strategy.”
“She wants the children?”
“No.”
Park looked at me.
“She wants standing.”
If Camille could maintain a parental or guardian-like relationship, her attorneys could argue she had acted as a caregiver and challenge certain evidence.
The family court scheduled a hearing.
I hated every second.
Dr. Walsh prepared Jack and Rosie.
I was not allowed in the interview room.
Neither was Camille.
A child advocate handled it.
Jack spoke for forty-two minutes.
Rosie for seventeen.
I spent every one of them pacing.
Naomi sat calmly.
“How can you sit?”
“I’m not.”
“You are literally sitting.”
“My brain isn’t.”
Fair.
When Jack came out, he looked exhausted.
I knelt.
“How was it?”
“Okay.”
“You want to go?”
“Yes.”
I stood.
He grabbed my sleeve.
“Dad?”
“What?”
“I told them about the chair.”
My stomach tightened.
“The dining chair?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
His eyes searched mine.
“You’re not mad?”
“No.”
“I said you scared me.”
“I did.”
He looked confused again.
Camille had taught him adults punish inconvenient truth.
I needed years to teach him the opposite.
“You tell them everything.”
“Even bad things about you?”
“Especially.”
He nodded.
The judge denied Camille contact.
Not because I was a perfect father.
The order explicitly noted my history of violence, prolonged absence and exposure of the children to an unstable environment.
Reading that hurt.
It should have.
But the judge found Camille had engaged in sustained coercive emotional abuse and attempted to manufacture evidence.
She would not see the children.
On the courthouse steps, reporters shouted questions.
“Mr. Romano, are you fit to raise your children?”
I stopped.
Nico whispered:
“Keep walking.”
I didn’t.
I turned.
Cameras rose.
I could have said yes.
I could have defended myself.
Instead:
“I’m working on becoming fit.”
The reporters went quiet.
“I left too much of parenting to other people.”
I continued.
“That allowed someone to hurt my children.”
A journalist asked:
“Do you blame Ms. Sloane?”
“For abusing them? Yes.”
Another:
“Do you blame yourself?”
“Yes.”
Nico closed his eyes.
My public relations team probably fainted somewhere.
I continued.
“That doesn’t excuse what she did.”
Then:
“But if your child is hurt while you’re too busy building an empire to notice, you have questions to answer too.”
I left.
That clip went everywhere.
Politicians canceled meetings.
Two board members resigned.
Three banks requested compliance reviews.
Old allies called me insane.
For the first time, I didn’t care.
That evening Jack watched the interview.
“You said it was your fault.”
“Partly.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Some of it was.”
He frowned.
“Camille was mean.”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t there.”
“Yes.”
He thought.
“So both?”
“Yes.”
Jack nodded.
“Okay.”
Same lesson again.
Children understood complexity better than adults wanted them to.
Rosie climbed onto the sofa beside me.
“Daddy?”
“What?”
“Are we still rich?”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
She looked disappointed.
“I wanted a horse.”
“We are not horse-rich.”
“You just said we’re rich.”
Naomi laughed from the kitchen.
I looked at my daughter.
“There are categories.”
“Mommy said you always say no first.”
My heart tightened.
“Your mother was very rude.”
Rosie smiled.
That night, she fell asleep against me.
First time since the safe house.
I did not move for two hours.
My arm went numb.
May you like
Worth it.
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