
08/07/2025
He sat on the carpet.
A little boy.
With a toy car in his hand
and a question in his eyes that was bigger than he was.
The father swallowed.
Wanted to answer.
But where do you start,
when your heart is stuck in your throat?
“I want to have breakfast with you again…
…and for you to take me to school.”
He smiled.
But his hands trembled slightly.
Because wishes like that can’t be promised.
Only hoped for.
He explained carefully.
About grown-up arguments.
About rules.
About courts.
The boy listened.
Quietly.
Then he whispered:
“I fight with Mom sometimes too…
but I still get to stay.”
The father turned away.
Just briefly.
So the boy wouldn’t see his tears.
Then he stood up.
Sat down beside him.
And said simply:
“I’m not leaving because I want to.
I’m leaving because I have to.
But my heart is staying here.”