The first supervised visit took place in a quiet, neutral space arranged by the court — a child-friendly counseling room with soft lighting, calm colors, and two security officers stationed discreetly outside.
Sarah did not enter with them; she stayed behind the one-way glass the court provided, her arms folded, her eyes steady even though her heart felt painfully tight.
Daniel, now twelve, walked into the room with a caution that didn’t belong to a child his age. Trauma had its way of speeding up childhood. He sat opposite his father, shoulders stiff, eyes guarded.
James looked older. He carried the weight of sleepless nights, and something in his expression betrayed exhaustion deeper than physical tiredness. When he saw his son, his voice caught for a moment.
“Daniel… I’m glad you
