I never thought the sound of a judge’s pen could stop my heart, but there I was, gripping a table, waiting to hear if I’d be a father who kissed his child goodnight or one who saw her only on weekends.
Six months earlier, my life was a perfect spreadsheet of travel and work. I had a marriage that looked good on paper—Laura smiled in photos, and we had a daughter, Chloe, who was everything. But I missed moments: client calls replaced first recitals, hotel rooms replaced bedtime stories.
Then, I found out about Joel, Laura’s coworker. I held my silence, booked a lawyer, and faced custody court. Laura had the routines; I had the love. Chloe’s words changed everything: “I don’t want to be second place.”
The judge asked if I’d change my life for her—I promised I would. He awarded me primary custody.
We sold the big house, moved closer to school, and rebuilt our life—pancakes, painted nails, glow-in-the-dark stars. Chloe declared, “I’m first place.” I learned what mattered: showing up beats everything.
That day, a five-year-old with a battered bunny rearranged my world with seven words: “I don’t want to be second place.”
