PG One

The little boy stood on trembling legs, both hands gripping the wooden bench so hard his knuckles turned white.

His emerald coat was too small at the wrists. Tears ran down his face, but he kept looking up at the elderly judge in the wheelchair.

“Please,” he cried. “Let Daddy come home.”

The courtroom fell into a heavy silence.

At the side, his father sat in prison clothes with his head lowered, his jaw tight, one hand pressed near his chest like he was trying not to break apart in front of him.

The judge slowly lowered her glasses and studied the child’s face.

“Why should I?” she asked.

The little boy swallowed hard. His lip trembled. For a second, he looked at the judge’s wheelchair, then back into her eyes.

“I can fix your legs,” he whispered.

The judge froze.

A faint tremor passed through her hands. The papers she was holding shook.

The father looked up sharply, stunned.

The little boy reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny faded hospital bracelet. He placed it carefully on the bench between them.

The judge leaned forward.
The moment she saw it, her breath caught.

“Where did you get that?” she whispered.

The little boy pushed it closer with shaking fingers.

The judge read the worn name on it, and her face drained of color.

The little boy’s voice broke as he looked up through tears.

“Mom said you were my”

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Part 2 👇👇👇