family court
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For so long,home felt like a sentencemissing half its words. Beds madefor children sleeping somewhere else. Shoes by the doorthat did not belongto every pair of feetmy heart was counting. I kept listeningfor voices that weren’t there. Kept imaginingthe sound of all of themunder one roof again— the arguing,the laughing,the sudden crashfrom another roomfollowed byI’m…
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Uncertainty turns silence into sirens and thoughts into sharp little things, forcing the body to survive futures that have not happened.
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Some wars leave no bruises—only sleepless nights, self-doubt, and a battlefield built inside the mind.
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Courtrooms count paperwork and allegations; motherhood keeps counting lullabies, scraped knees, and all the care no file can hold.
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Truth was once used like a threat; now she lets it stand on its own without giving fear the final word.
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The boys are coming home, but relief arrives carrying supervision, weekends away, and the knowledge that another fight may still be waiting.
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Justice may still be face down in the deck, but hope needs somewhere to rest while court dates keep living in the body.
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A letter to the boy who first made her a mother, carrying years of ordinary memories, fierce love, and all the things no photograph can hold.
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Custody is called a battle, but for a mother living inside the waiting, there is no clean finish line—only love that keeps showing up.
Between Bruises & Blooms 