The dark brown wood of the pew in front of her stares back with dead eyes, the straight-line grooves blurring as tears form at the edge of her eyes and panic flutters in her belly. The voices around mutter with legalese, words she doesn't understand, and suddenly she realises with absolute clarity: these people want to take her children away, they have no good intentions to protect them. She sucks back the tears and curls the panic into a tight ball inside. She must not allow any emotion to show, she could not be normal here.
The words of the judge echoed in her mind.
'We have established there is no evidence of the alleged abuse. Therefore it did not happen and the mother has lied.' Has lied, has lied... Was it her or did this sound illogical? The familiar old feelings of confusion flash back. Gaslighting. Crazymaking.
Other words tumbled from The Applicants barrister. 'The father has patiently waited for some time, your honour. We therefore propose contact starts immediately.'
Her heart beats so fast she fears it will break into pieces, her mind races trying to gather thoughts, trying to do her best for her children. She must hold on somehow. She looks up. The room seeps sinister, dark secrets, hopeless games you can never win.
The court reporter* pipes up, 'The father is keen to see his children and has made every effort to clean up his flat to a safe standard'. Her simpering voice smiles into the acrid air.
Details are discussed. When, where, how.
Someone addresses her. 'Can the mother confirm the children are free this Saturday at 10am?'
No, they are not, they have a dance class, then a meet-up with friends. And they will never be free for that monster to smack their beautiful faces, or to have their necks bruised while they dangle from his grip, AND WORSE, WORSE she wants to scream.
But she nods and her head bows. Shame, fear, outrage engulf her and an overwhelming desire to run starts to take form. She holds onto the seat, tries again to gather her thoughts.
More blabber from the Judge. He appears to be reading out the court order.
- 'Having given full and careful consideration to the evidence and the arguments on both sides, I am not satisfied on a balance of probabilities that the abuse took place. Blah blah..[] In summary, it is alleged that G, the father, raped the mother on several occasions, perpetrated violence against her and has emotionally, physically and sexually abused J and C...[] He denies each allegation leveled at him. G currently faces criminal charges arising out of the allegations made. He is due to be tried on those criminal charges in January next year. I make clear at the outset that I have found none of the findings sought by the mother to be proved. In particular I find the allegations of rape merely not to her taste and the fact that she admits she did not fight against the advances of G shows it was not rape....[] In summary, the findings are that each of the allegations made by the mother and the children are false; that J and C have been coached or influenced by their mother into making allegations; that the mother has told lies to a series of professionals; and that, in consequence, the children have suffered significant emotional harm.'
A sickness reaches her throat, and she runs. Runs from the horror, the injusice, the pain, the darkness of power, the monstrous faces, the pointing fingers grabbing for her babies.
The door crashes behind her, she stumbles through security, runs out into the cool, fresh air, runs to the carpark, fumbles for her keys, falls into the front seat. And shakes, cries, from the shock and the deepest pain of a mother whose instincts connect with her childrens future of violation, hurt, powerless against a team of abusers.
Somehow she drives home. Her girls rush to her, chatting, bouncing with news, and she embraces them for the last time as her own children. Her father enters the room and looks into her eyes. She shakes her head in slight movement. He sees and suggests to the girls that they have the snack he's just left in the kitchen. As soon as they are out of sight, he folds his daughter into his arms, silent, for there are no words to console a mother unable to save her childrens happiness. She breathes in his familiar, safe scent, his whiskers brush her face, and she allows tears to fall.
They move into the study, she explains whatever she can remember. He has practical words to sooth. We can fight, you can appeal, you did your best, at least they are older and can speak up, at least you didn't lose residence. Yes, we will try she says. But knowing, somehow, it will all be futile. Because these people are too powerful, they are too uneducated, and they don't care about the small lives they see every day. And she knows they and her ex-husband will get away with every injustice. They will laugh and congratulate. Because they can.
*This story is based on UK Family courts. A court reporter here would be a CAFCASS worker
A story based on true situations
By Heather Rose
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