Hundred and Sixty Four

Hundred and Sixty Four
When the judge suggested mediation, I almost laughed.

Not because it was funny, but because it felt absurd that something as small as a “mediator’s office” could decide the shape of our lives, after weeks of lawyers and paparazzi and courtrooms. But the judge had been firm: “Given the circumstances, mediation is the best first step. Let’s hear from the child himself.”

The child.

My son.

The gravity of the situation felt heav as I sat in the waiting room with Declan and Jacob, my hands clasped tight in my lap. Noah was in a smaller room down the hall, with a woman whose calm, practiced smile I’d tried, and failed, not to resent.

And God, Noah, talking to a stranger about his family. My poor baby.

“She’s just here to listen,” the judge had said. “Noah doesn’t need to pick sides. We just want to know how he’s feeling.”

But I knew. Deep down, I knew. He was going to be confused. Scared. Torn in half by all of us pulling at him.

The door to the mediation room closed with a soft click, and my heart thudded painfully in my chest.

Declan reached over, lacing his fingers through mine. His thumb rubbed over the back of my hand, slow and steady, like he was trying to ground me.

“He’s okay,” Declan murmured.

I nodded, though my throat was too tight to speak.

Jacob sat stiffly on the other side of me, his jaw clenched. He took my other hand, gently pressing it. I think he needed the comfort, too. If Emma got custody, I wouldn’t be the only one
losing Noah. 

Minutes dragged into what felt like hours. My stomach twisted. I kept picturing Noah’s small face across from that mediator, his hands fidgeting the way they always did when he was nervous.

Finally, the door opened.

The mediator stepped out first, offering us that same neutral smile. “He’s very bright,” she said. “Very thoughtful. Would you like to come in?”

I was on my feet before she finished the sentence.

Noah sat in a chair too big for him, his legs swinging above the floor. He looked up when we entered, his eyes wide but calm.

“Mommy!” he said, excitedly, running to me and hugging my legs. He stepped back, looking up at me. 

I rushed to him, crouching down until we were eye level. “Baby. You okay?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

The mediator gestured gently. “Why don’t you all sit? Noah had some things he wanted to share with you.”

I sank into the chair beside him, Declan and Jacob flanking us on both sides. My pulse was loud in my ears. I wanted to throw up.

The mediator’s voice was soothing, practiced. “Noah, would you like to tell your family what you told me?”

Noah fiddled with the strings of his hoodie. He glanced at me first, then at Jacob, then at Declan. His little brow furrowed, like he was figuring out how to say it.

“I don’t want anyone to fight,” he said finally, his voice small but steady.

Tears pricked instantly at my eyes. “Sweetheart…”

“I just want my Mommy,” he continued, and I felt my chest ache with relief. “And Daddy.” He glanced at Jacob, whose throat bobbed hard.

“And Declan.”

The room went still.

Noah looked at Declan then, his eyes clear, his words simple. “I like when you come to my games. And when you make Mommy smile. You don’t have to be my Daddy. But I want you too.”

Declan’s face broke. He ducked his head, a hand dragging across his mouth, but not quickly enough to hide the way his eyes shimmered.

I couldn’t stop the tears. They slipped hot and fast down my cheeks as I reached for Noah’s hand, clutching it tight. “Oh, baby,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

Jacob cleared his throat, his eyes suspiciously bright. “You hear that, kiddo? You get to have all of us.”

Noah nodded solemnly, as if he’d just delivered the solution to the world’s biggest problem. “Yeah. Mama, Daddy, and Declan. That’s all I want.”

I looked at Declan. His shoulders hunched, his jaw tight, his eyes wet. And beneath it all, relief. Fierce, aching relief.

Fuck, I knew it, cause I was feeling it, too.

For so long, he’d been terrified Noah would reject him. That he’d never be more than the shadow of a father Noah didn’t know he had. And now, out of Noah’s own mouth, the words he’d
been longing for.

Declan’s hand found my knee under the table, squeezing hard like he needed to hold onto something solid. I held his hand, looking at his face. Our eyes met, and it was like a dam burst.

And I broke.

I leaned into him, tears spilling unchecked, my free hand covering my mouth as I tried, and failed, to keep quiet. But I broke down into sobs, and I knew he was crying, too.

Declan’s arm came around my shoulders, pulling me close, his lips pressing into my hair. He was trembling too, I realized. Trembling with the weight of this tiny, earth-shattering moment.

The mediator’s voice was gentle. “Children often know more than we give them credit for. Noah isn’t choosing sides. He’s telling you he wants connection. He wants peace.”

Peace.

For weeks, it had been lawyers and threats and Emma’s endless venom. For years, it had been secrets and lies and regret. And here, in the simple voice of a little boy, was clarity.

Mommy. Daddy. Declan.

All he wanted was love.

I kissed Noah’s head, my tears wetting his hair. “Thank you, baby,” I whispered. “Thank you for telling us.”

He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Can we go get ice cream now?”

A laugh broke through my tears. Jacob chuckled softly too, ruffling Noah’s hair. 

The mediator smiled. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

“All the ice cream you want, bud.” Declan spoke.

We filed out of the office together, our strange, imperfect little unit. Paparazzi would still be waiting. Emma would still be plotting. But in that moment, none of it mattered.

Because Noah had spoken.

And I wasn’t going to lose my baby.