Two days later, I was sitting in a lawyer’s office.

The medic had documented everything—malnourishment, dehydration, bites, bruises. Abuse. Neglect. We built the case fast.

In court, Megan wept, claiming she’d been manipulated, while her lawyer tried to paint me as an absentee father. The words stung, but I stayed steady. My service had been for them—for her, for Sophie.

Then Sophie spoke. Her voice trembled, but her words carried the weight of truth:

“He put me in the garage. Mommy let him.”

The courtroom fell silent. Megan sobbed, but the judge’s decision was swift and clear. Custody was granted to me.