“Remember, stay factual. Don’t get emotional. Stick to the documented incidents. The police report from last week is particularly damning.”
“What if I cry?”
“Then you cry. But don’t let them see you waver. The judge needs to understand that you’re not doing this out of spite or revenge—you’re doing this for safety.”
When we were called into the courtroom, I felt like I was walking to my own execution. The judge—a woman in her sixties with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense expression—reviewed the case file while we all stood.
“Please be seated. This is a petition for a restraining order filed by Sarah Chen-Thompson against Margaret and Robert Chen. Ms. Chen-Thompson, you’re represented by counsel?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Jennifer stood. “Jennifer Wu, representing the petitioner.”
“And Mr. and Mrs. Chen, do you have representation?”
My father stood. “We don’t need a lawyer, Your Honor. This is all a big misunderstanding. Our daughter is going through some kind of mental health crisis—”
“Mr. Chen, I asked if you have legal representation. Yes or no?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Then sit down and you’ll have your chance to speak.”
The judge turned to Jennifer. “Counsel, present your case.”
What followed was the most excruciating hour of my life. Jennifer methodically presented the evidence—the three years of financial transfers, the missed birthday party, the text messages, the voicemails, the incident at our apartment, the attempted school pickup, the harassment at Marcus’s workplace.
My parents’ lawyer-less defense was rambling and emotional. My mother cried through most of it, insisting they were loving parents who just wanted to be part of their granddaughter’s life. My father was more combative, arguing that I was being manipulative and vindictive, that they had every right to the car because they’d been using it, that the money I’d sent was a gift and they could spend it however they wanted.
“And what about your granddaughter’s birthday party?” the judge asked. “The one you allegedly promised to attend?”
“We had a family obligation,” my father said. “Our son needed us.”
“Your son who lives in Phoenix?”
“Yes.”
“And you flew to Phoenix rather than driving twenty minutes to your granddaughter’s birthday party?”
“It’s not that simple, Your Honor. Our son—”
