The judge turned his eyes toward Zaden. “Son,” he said gently, “is that true? Do you want to live with your father?”

Everything inside me stopped. My heart, my breath, my hope. I wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair to ask an 8-year-old that question in a room full of strangers, with his father staring down at him like a shadow. But I said nothing. I waited.

Zaden stood up. He didn’t answer right away. He reached into the pocket of his tiny gray jacket, pulled something out, and held it up for the judge to see. It was my old phone. I’d given it to him to play games on a few months ago.