“Eighty percent,” the judge repeated, “now belongs to your daughter. You will have no access to it.”
Richard’s knees buckled. He grabbed the table for support.
“So… what do I get?” he croaked. The judge didn’t hesitate. “Supervised visitation — pending review.
And 20% of the remaining assets.”
The courtroom was dead silent. THE FINAL MOMENT
As court adjourned, Richard turned to me, shaking. “You planned this,” he said hoarsely.
I met his eyes calmly. “No,” I replied. “You planned to destroy me.
I planned to protect my child.”
My daughter squeezed my hand. And as we walked out of the courtroom, I realized something profound:
The moment he told me to “take my child to hell”
was the exact moment
he lost everything that mattered.
