“The plaintiff claims the grandmother can provide a better environment.”
“But allow me to ask, where was this grandmother for the last three years? Why wasn’t she helping the father, supporting him, participating in her grandson’s life? She only appeared when the child started to become happy. And instead of sharing in that joy, she is trying to destroy it.”
Eleanor pressed her lips together but remained silent.
“We ask the court,” Paul concluded, “to dismiss this petition and leave the child with his father. David Solomon is not a perfect parent. But he is a loving parent. And for a seven-year-old boy who has lost his mother, that is the most important thing of all.”
He sat down.
The judge looked at Eleanor.
“Does the plaintiff wish to make a statement?”
Eleanor stood. She straightened her back. Her voice was firm, but something flickered in her eyes. Pain.
“Your Honor, I am not trying to destroy my grandson’s life. I am trying to save it. My daughter died three years ago. I lost her. And I cannot bear to lose my grandson as well.” Her voice cracked. “I see that David is trying. But trying is not enough.”
“Michael needs stability, a system, professional help. I can give him that. Not out of a desire to take him away—but out of a desire to help.”
She looked at David.
“I know you love him. But sometimes, love isn’t enough.”
She sat down.
Silence descended on the courtroom. The judge leaned back in her chair.
“Does anyone else wish to be heard?”
David stood up.
“May I speak?”
“You are the respondent. You have the right.”
He stepped forward. His heart was pounding. His hands were shaking. But he forced himself to speak evenly.
“Your Honor, three years ago, I buried my wife. On that day, I buried myself as well. I stopped living; I merely functioned.”
“I worked, I made money, I hired specialists for my son. I thought that was what it meant to be a father.” He paused. “I was wrong. Michael didn’t need money or specialists. He needed a dad. A living person beside him who would hug him, play with him, just be there. Vera taught me that. She gave me back my son. And she gave me back my life.”
David turned to Michael. The boy was watching him with wide eyes.
“I’m not asking the court to take my word for it. I’m asking you to listen to my son.”
The courtroom fell silent.
“Michael cannot hear. But he can speak. With his hands. And he has the right to say where he wants to live.”
The judge frowned.
“The child is seven years old. By law, his opinion is considered if he is capable of articulating it.”
“And Michael is capable,” Paul interjected.
The judge looked at Michael. Then she nodded.
“Come here, Michael.”
Michael sat frozen. He looked at the judge, at his father, at his grandmother. A small boy in a neat suit, with huge gray eyes full of fear.
“Michael.” David knelt beside him and signed, “Don’t be afraid. Just tell the truth.”
The boy slowly stood up. Vera came over and took his hand.
“I’ll interpret for you. Okay?”
Michael nodded.
They approached the judge’s bench. Judge Samuelson looked at the child gently, without pressure.
“Michael, my name is Judge Samuelson. Do you understand what that means?”
Vera interpreted. Michael nodded.
“I have to decide where it’s best for you to live. With your dad in Chicago, or with your grandma in Boston. But to make the right decision, I need to hear from you. Are you ready to answer my questions?”
Again, the interpretation. Again, a nod.
“Okay. First question. Do you love your dad?”
Michael looked at David. He signed slowly, clearly:
“Yes, I love him very much.”
Vera translated aloud, her voice trembling with tears.
“Do you love your grandma?”
Michael looked at Eleanor. He paused. Then he signed:
“Yes. But I’m scared of her.”
Eleanor flinched, as if she’d been struck.
“Why are you scared?”
“She’s strict. She always says I’m doing things wrong. That I need to try harder. That I’m not like other kids.”
Vera translated. With every word, Eleanor grew paler.
“And your dad? Does he say things like that?”
Michael shook his head.
“He used to. With the old nanny. But not anymore. Now he says I’m good. That I’m doing great. That he’s proud of me.”
“And Vera? What does she say?”
For the first time, the boy’s face lit up with a smile.
“Vera says I’m not broken, just different. That being deaf isn’t a sickness. It’s just my way of hearing the world.”
The judge nodded.
“I see. Michael, if you could choose, where would you want to live?”
The boy didn’t hesitate for a second.
“With my dad. And with Vera.”
“Why?”
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