“Right where you are sitting.”
“Are you telling me you sleep in the living room?”
“A temporary situation.”
“That doesn’t…” I glance at the kids, who seem to be hanging on my every word, including Mason, who has just returned to the living room with my glass of water. “We’ll address that point at another time,” I cut it short to avoid sensitive topics in the children’s presence.
“You may speak freely,” Mason says in surprise before holding his siblings to him. “We want to know everything and be prepared.”
I look at Seth.
“I have no secrets. They know everything about me, about my past. I want them to know everything.”
“I wouldn’t want to upset anyone,” I say as discreetly as possible.
“We can take anything,” Mason proudly states.
I smile at him. I know that look. I see the suffering behind an overly ostentatious confidence.
This is not my suffering, I remind myself.
This is not my story.
I am just their lawyer.
Nothing more.
I have to win this case, and challenging cases like this are not won with emotions and weak hearts.
Cases are won with a solid foundation, proven facts, and the help of a professional who does not look anyone in the face.
“What about the house where the kids lived?” I ask, turning to Seth, my tone deliberately harsh. “That was rented, too, right?” I recheck the papers, even though I know the situation perfectly now.
“I could not afford a moving.”
“Mm-Uhm. Have you tried asking the Council? To get put on the list for a social house?”
“Uhm… No. Should I have?”
I try to contain my slight disappointment. I realised he was absent-minded but didn’t think he was clueless.
“I don’t get anything right,” he says, his voice faint. He must have read my expression.
“It’s a long list,” I say. “It takes years to get a house.”
He sighs disconsolately. The kids huddle around him in support. It’s nice that they are so close and understand that their uncle is trying hard, but it won’t make much difference to a judge.
“Do you think that with my… er… record…”
I look at the kids; they don’t blink an eye.
“They know everything about me. I told you.”
I nod and make a note. “How long have you been clean?”
“Thirteen years. Five months. And two days.”
“Relapses?”
