The courtroom was silent. Natalie’s composure faltered. The judge leaned forward. “Are you prepared to make adjustments to ensure your daughter’s stability?” he asked me.
“Yes,” I said immediately. “I will do whatever it takes.”
I rearranged my life. I requested a local position at work, eliminating travel. We sold our house and moved closer to her school. We painted her room together, covering the ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stars. Evenings became our sacred time: pancake Sundays, bedtime stories, evening walks, laughter filling every corner of our home.
I had lost a marriage I once thought unbreakable, but I had gained clarity: children perceive truth in ways adults often cannot. Lena’s seven words—simple, unadorned—did not just influence a legal ruling. They reshaped our lives, anchored our priorities, and reminded me that love cannot be stockpiled, postponed, or replaced. It must be present, in each small, fleeting moment, or it risks being lost forever.
