The drive home is filled with Blythe’s chatter about the art project and her theories about why finger paints are superior to regular paints. Tyson’s quieter, processing in his usual way, occasionally asking practical questions about logistics and timing.
At home, we settle in the living room—me and Dex on the couch, the kids in their usual spots on the floor with books and toys scattered around them. The familiar domestic scene makes today’s courtroom drama feel even more surreal.
“So,” I begin, trying to find the right words. “You know how we went to court today to talk to the judge about Dad and what happened?”
Both kids nod, their attention focused on me with the intensity they usually reserve for Christmas morning or the reveal of surprise activities.
“The judge listened to everyone who talked to her—me, Dex, the lawyers, the doctors who looked at Tyson’s bruise. And she decided that what Dad did was wrong, and that there need to be consequences.”
“What kind of consequences?” Tyson asks, ever practical.
“Well, the judge said that Dad can’t come to our house anymore. He can’t come to your school or your hockey practices or skating lessons. He has to stay far away from us unless it’s a special visit that the court arranges.”
“So he can’t just show up?” Blythe asks, her voice smaller than usual.
“No, baby. He can’t just show up. The judge made a rule that says he’s not allowed to.”
“But we can still see him?” Tyson’s question is careful, like he’s afraid of the answer.
“Yes, you can still see him. But it will be at a special place, and there will be another adult there whose job is to make sure everyone feels safe and comfortable.”
“Like a referee?” Blythe asks, perking up at a concept she can understand.
“Exactly like a referee. Someone who makes sure everyone follows the rules.”
Tyson processes this with his characteristic thoughtfulness. “What if Dad doesn’t like the rules?”
“Then he’ll get in trouble with the court. The judge was very clear that Dad has to follow these rules, and if he doesn’t, there will be bigger consequences.”
“Good,” Tyson says with surprising firmness. “He should have to follow rules like everyone else.”
The simple moral clarity of it—the understanding that adults should be held accountable for their actions—makes my chest tight with pride and sadness. These kids have learned lessons no child should have to learn, but they’ve learned them with grace and wisdom that humbles me.
“So what does this mean for us?” Blythe asks, ever focused on the practical implications. “Do we still live here? Do we still go to school?”
“Everything stays the same,” I assure her. “This is your home. You go to the same school, play the same sports, have the same friends. The only thing that changes is that you won’t be going to Dad’s house every other weekend anymore.”
“What will we do instead?” Tyson asks.
I glance at Dex, not sure how to handle this part of the conversation. We haven’t talked about logistics, about what our relationship looks like now that the legal battle is over.
“Well,” Dex says carefully, “that depends on what you guys want to do. And what your mom wants to do.”
“I want to do normal stuff,” Blythe announces. “Like families on TV. With pancakes and movie nights and maybe a dog.”
“We’ve talked about the dog thing before,” I remind her. “Dogs are a lot of responsibility.”
“But now we have more time!” she argues with eight-year-old logic. “Because we don’t have to go to Dad’s house and be quiet all the time!”
The casual way she says it—acknowledging the constraint they lived under during those visits—breaks my heart. How much of their childhood was spent managing their father’s moods, moderating their natural enthusiasm to avoid conflict?
“Maybe we can talk about a dog later,” I concede. “After we get used to our new routine.”
“What about other stuff?” Tyson asks, looking between me and Dex. “Are you guys... are you going to get married? Live together? Do family stuff together?”
Trust my son to ask the questions that cut straight to the complicated heart of adult relationships.
“We haven’t figured all that out yet,” I tell him honestly. “What would you think about that? If Dex was around more often?”
