He kept his chin up, his gaze locked on the seal of the State of Ohio on the wall behind the bench. He did not look toward my table, not even for a second.
I stood up, my chair scraping against the linoleum floor. “Noah?”
The bailiff raised a hand, a quiet warning. “Please remain seated, ma’am.”
Noah took his place at the small wooden stand near the center of the room, his shoulders squared. He stood with stiff shoulders, his arms straight down at his sides, avoiding direct eye contact with anyone.
Judge Miller entered from the side door, his black robes rustling as he took his seat. He looked at the paperwork in front of him for a long minute without speaking, the silence in the courtroom stretching thin.
“Mr. and Mrs. Chappell,” the judge said, his voice deep and tired. “We are here to resolve the temporary physical custody arrangements for Noah.”
“There is no dispute, Your Honor,” Ellis said, his voice rapid and clean. “The boy has made his decision clear, and his preference is documented in the brief my counsel submitted this morning.”
I leaned forward, my hands pressing into the cold wood of the table. “That is not true. We agreed on joint custody with primary residence at my apartment on Broad Street.”
The judge looked over his glasses at me, then turned his attention to Noah. “Young man, you are twelve years old. In this state, the court takes your wishes into account. Do you understand why we are here today?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Noah said. His voice was unusually formal, his vocabulary mature for a child his age.
He stood near the bench, refusing to look at me, his gaze fixed on the mahogany wood of the judge’s desk.
“Where do you wish to reside during these proceedings?” the judge asked.
