No conversation. No therapy. Just an envelope delivered to my office containing the documents and a sticky note on top: “Please don’t make this unnecessarily difficult.”
That was Lukas—always polite when he wanted to be cruel. He was also seeking sole custody of our ten-year-old daughter, Hanna. In court, he described me as “unstable,” “financially irresponsible,” and “emotionally unpredictable.” He portrayed himself as the calm, organized, and reliable father. With his impeccable suit and gentle voice, he was convincing. And people believed him.
In the courtroom, he held my gaze for only two seconds before looking away, as if I were some shameful object he had already discarded. Hanna sat next to me and my lawyer on the first day of the hearing.
Her feet didn’t touch the ground. Her hands were folded in her lap. That cautious posture broke my heart. I didn’t want her there, but Lukas insisted. He said she would help the judge “see reality.” Apparently, reality was that a little girl had to watch her parents destroy each other. Lukas’s lawyer spoke first. “Mr. Weber has always been the primary caregiver,” she said with practiced gentleness. “He is the one who raises the child and provides stability. Mrs. Weber, on the other hand, has unpredictable mood swings and has exposed the child to inappropriate conflict.” Inappropriate conflict. I had evidence: text messages, bank statements, unexplained absences, money being diverted to an account I didn’t even know existed. But my lawyer asked me to remain calm. Everything would be presented in due course. Even so, the judge’s face remained neutral. That kind of neutrality that makes you feel invisible.
