Acceptance
by Zoeyjane
The words Barrister and Solicitor blind from the northwest. Before I’ve even slipped a finger under the edge and torn out what could only be rhetoric, my blood pressure’s risen. I’m instantly clammy and my breath shallows. This is the end of my good mood.
Repeated attempts to reinstate access jumps out from the page and the lie tastes like betrayal. The thought of telling tales to a lawyer has never occurred to me – it’s just something you don’t do – and I’m hit by his selfishness to appear the doting father and even more so, my sadness has been replaced by an single word: Motherfucker.
I was good. I wasn’t angry, despite that he’d chosen to cut off all contact with her in March when I suspended his visits. I was in a place of calmness, understanding of his single-minded need to think of himself first. He wanted nothing to do with me, so that meant he would have nothing to do with her. It isn’t right, and he should have fought, or changed, or called, but he is who he is, so I had accepted it.
But these lies, and the words on the phone as his lawyer talked down to me, they get my spine dancing. And I’m back in the ether of anger and outrage, and I’m making justifications for my place, and I’m being defensive. And I’m apologizing to the woman on the phone that has spent ten minutes circling the phrase “you are wrong” without actually saying it.
By the time I hang up, I’m seeing red and I’m so confused and my previous state of acceptance and calm rationality has been displaced by one of vengeance.
But that’s not who I am, anymore. So I breathe, and try to come up with a number big enough to count backwards from that will save my sanity. 10 is definitely too small and 100 seems like it might not do the trick, but the act of seeking refuge in integers has actually put the beast to sleep.
“Hi. Your lawyer told me to call you about going to mediation. Can we talk about it?”
Ten minutes later, I haven’t insulted, and I haven’t proclaimed him a liar, and I haven’t uttered a single see you in court. There’s no vengeance as I spell out the only terms I’ll agree to, so he can keep her overnight. I don’t breathe fire when I offer his normal visits back to him.
It’s simply about her, regardless of his need to appear the good, wounded, deprived man. And she needs her dad.
