There are fleeting moments when life feels normal. I wake up, I get dressed, I go to work. On rare occasions I get lost in meetings and dialogue with colleagues, and for a few minutes I forget. The pain of missing my daughter and the memory of my husband accusing me of being a sexual predator fades into the background.

June 6, 2019 was one of those days. It was a warm New York afternoon, and I was in good spirits. I was laughing and joking with friends at work, and left my phone at my desk.

Upon my return I saw a missed call from my lawyer and a text message that said…

“Paulina, please call me back ASAP. It’s important that we speak.”

A feeling of dread came over me. What could possibly be happening?

I grabbed my phone, dodged into a conference room, and started pacing as the phone rang. My lawyer picked up.

“Paulina?”

“There’s a motion for an emergency hearing to re-instate supervision. Can you come down to the office right now?”

What???

“Based on what?”, I asked.

“We don’t know. I’m really sorry.”

I was nauseous. Could this really be happening? Was this a dream?? I couldn’t feel my legs under me. How could he do this again?

I grabbed my stuff and ran out of the office. Although I had been saving every penny and avoiding taxis, today was an Uber kind of day. I didn’t care. I just needed to get to my lawyers office and figure out what the hell was going on.

The phone rang again. It was my lawyer

“Paulina? Where are you?”

“I’m in a cab.”

“Ok, just want to make sure you’re safe. I don’t want you dazed and walking around in the street.”

He knew I was completely freaking out. I was thankful that I had hopped in the Uber.

15 minutes later I was sitting on the familiar couch at my lawyers office. That sofa made me feel warm and protected during the worst moments of despair. We started throwing out guesses on what he could have possibly made up this time.

“He probably took her to a psychiatrist and made him think that she was breastfeeding, and got some sort of note about it,” my lawyer hypothesized.

“Could he do that without letting me know?”, I demanded.

“No, but he doesn’t care.”

I started going into full on panic mode. The judge would hear my husbands case, err on the side of caution, and re-instate supervision. I would lose my overnights and have to pay for supervision again. What would I do? Could I go on this way? Would I survive??

Ok, I won’t die. People have gotten through wars and genocides, I would get through this… somehow.

“We need to know what they have so we know what we’re dealing with.”

My lawyer emailed the court asking for their motion and their evidence. This is something they are supposed to provide. I had to pick up my daughter from school at 4pm and it was now past 3. I would not find out what was really happening before I had to go. I had to keep it together and act normal around her, but I couldn’t help thinking that this might be the last time I would pick her up from school for a long time.

As I walked out of the elevator at school I kept reminding my self to live in the moment and enjoy my daughter. I wouldn’t die. I would make it through this, and so would she. I did it once and I could do it again. This time I had experience and knew what to expect.

“Moooommmmyyyyy!!!!” My little girl catapulted toward me and jumped in my arms. I fought back the tears. We said bye to her friends, gathered her backpack and jacket, and walked toward the bus. I felt sick.

As we sat on the bus I called my friends and poured my heart out over the latest drama. I needed to let it out and tell everyone.

The other line beeped. It was my lawyer.

“Paulina?? We got the evidence and we feel much better! It’s a coached recording of her talking about eating mommy’s booby. It sounds completely fake!”

HERE IS THE RECORDING

Is it possible he really had the balls to do this? Could he be this dumb? There had to be more to it.

It turns out he was even dumber than I thought. The motion stated that he tried to email the therapist and get him to call the court to re-instate supervision. Because my husband hadn’t payed the bill, the therapist told him he wasn’t going to do anything about his fake recording.

The truth, obviously, was that the therapist wasn’t going to do anything about his fake recording because it was fake. I was pretty sure the therapist was on to him.

The next day, as I prepared to head to court I was still nervous. Many things had gone wrong so far. I shouldn’t have gotten my daughter taken away in the first place. I shouldn’t have had supervised visitation for 8 months. So far my experience in court was never positive.

As soon as we arrived in the courtroom we were called to the stand. After the usual “I promise to tell the truth” and stating our names, the judge asked the plaintiff (my husband) to plead his case. His lawyer began to speak…

“Your honor, they just registered an expert that says this breastfeeding behavior is normal! She’s still saying this is normal, and we are very concerned because she is still breastfeeding the child! We tried to let the therapist know, but he wouldn’t do anything about it because we didn’t pay him. I’m not here for litigation purposes, I’m just trying to protect this child!”

The judge grimaces at him.

“Well, why didn’t you pay him??”

This was the first time I have ever seen my husband’s lawyer squirm.

“Uhhhh, uhh, uhhhh well we are working out a payment plan with him. We told him we would pay him half now and half later.”

“When’s later??”

His lawyer looks taken aback again. After a few more “uhhhh’s” he whispers with my husband.

“Next week.”

The judge glares at them. He asks for context about the recording. Since my husband’s lawyer had nothing to say, he looks over at my husband and asks him to tell the story.

“I walked into my son’s room with my daughter, and she said something about booby so I immediately grabbed my phone and started recording…..” He went on a diatribe describing the recording.

The judge looks at him disapprovingly again and switches his gaze to my lawyer.

“Ok, what do you have to say?”

My lawyer went through the events that transpired – How my husband never payed for supervision and as a result I barely saw my daughter, which caused her to wean involuntarily. How although I was breastfeeding her before, it wasn’t happening any longer.

And finally, I got my chance to speak…

“Your honor, the nature of my apartment is that it’s one big main room. The kitchen and living room are combined. We are always in there. My 100 year old grandmother lives with me, and her nanny is always there. She can attest to the fact that I AM NOT BREASTFEEDING! Your honor, he made it up!”

For the first time throughout this whole experience I got a sign that I can have a small bit of faith in the New York family court system. The judge looked at me approvingly and gave me a small nod. He concluded with the following closing statement…

“I’ve heard the recording, and I’m not sure if the child is being interviewed or what, but I don’t have enough evidence. I’m not signing this.”

I looked at my husband as he walked away from the stand. The bags under his eyes were a deep purple, and the miserable scowl on his face was especially pronounced. I glared at him until I had no choice but to turn around and walk toward the exit. To my pleasant surprise his glare back at me was worn out and exhausted.

As we walked out of the courtroom I felt like dropping to my knees. My lawyer, his associate council, and I group-hugged, laughed, and high-fived. This was the beginning of our victory.

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