No Regrets

Chapter Eight - Hell- I Mean Courthouse

EARLIER THAT DAY

DOMINICK'S POV

   Everyone is arguing. My "criminal record" is pulled up. All that is on my record are minor crimes such as: trespassing, underage drinking, plus one incident of drunk-driving, speeding tickets, and unpaid speeding tickets. All either equaled an expensive ticket or minor jail time. Jail time lasting only a few hours, because my parents bailed me out.

   Apparently, Aria was called into the room so she could state her opinion on the situation to the judge. However, she didn't say a single word. Which is both good and bad for the decision of whether or not I get a chance at joint custody of the baby.

   Mrs. Wilton keeps saying, "My heart can't take anymore of this." It is probably slightly true and slightly a ploy to win some sympathy. My family's lawyer advised that the Wilton's and our family try to settle the custody matter without having to bring a case to family court. I've stood in front of almost every single judge here in a courtroom; while they decided whether or not to throw me in jail.

"How about Dominick has the baby one week then your family has the baby the next week. And we can keep switching every week." Mom suggests.

"Your son will be lucky if he gets to see her one hour once a month." Mr. Wilton remarks. "That boy has a serious record. He done jail time." Mr. Wilton adds, waving around a file containing information of my past offenses.

"That boy is my son and he has a name. And as for a serious record, you make it sound like he killed somebody." Mom remarks. "Most of them minor offenses that he was fined for, he has no violent crimes."

   I stand in the room, no one has taken notice of me yet. I pat the baby's back attempting to help her release a burp.

   Are you sure you want to do this? I ask myself before clearing my throat. Suddenly all eyes are on me. Actually, more on the baby in my arms, than at me. "The baby is my daughter. That's been proven." I start. I don't really have a speech prepared; therefore, I am going off-the-cuff. "I do not deny I've done things in the past that weren't responsible," or legal. "However, I have not committed a violent offense. And I've taken care of this baby since she came into my care." I look down at the baby. "All I want... is a chance. A chance to do something right. A chance to take responsibility." I say as I look back up to address the room.

   No one talks for a while. Everyone seems to be in their own minds. The silence does not last very long. Mr. Wilton clears his throat, "Apparently, we will not be reaching an agreement on this." He says.

~~~~~~~~~~~

   The baby needs a diaper change. Mom offered to change the diaper, but I want to prove that I am responsible. I also wanted to escape the room, one could suffocate on all the tension.

  I find myself at a conflict as I  realize the men's bathroom does not have a changing table. Should I go into the women's bathroom? I don't have changing pad. I think as I leave the men's room and start toward's the women's bathroom. I stop myself at the door. I'll look like a pervert.

   The baby begins to squirm and makes the a frustrated squeal of discomfort. Make a decision and fast! I yell at myself silently. After making a quick judgement-call, I walk into the women's bathroom. A changing table is safer than the floor and there are much more germs in the men's bathroom. I reason my myself as I walk further into the bathroom.

   I place the bag on the floor and pull down the changing table. Gently, I set the baby down before reaching for the bag. I may not be a pro at changing diapers, but I'm not incompetent.