As Lily pressed play on the pink tablet, the quiet hum of the courtroom gave way to the tinny sound of a video starting. The screen flickered to life, revealing the familiar setting of my living room—the soft beige couch, the framed family photos on the wall, and the morning sunlight slanting through the windows.
The room was filled with voices, one of which was unmistakably my husband’s. His tone was harsh, and the words were laced with a frustration I had often heard but never so clearly captured. My heart sank as I realized this was a moment Lily had recorded without our knowledge—a private argument turned public testimony.
In the video, my husband was pacing, his agitation palpable even in pixelated form. He was ranting about how he felt trapped, how our lives had become suffocatingly routine, and how he longed for an escape from the responsibilities he claimed were weighing him down. There was an edge to his voice, an intensity that suggested his grievances were not new but rather the culmination of years of bottled-up resentment.
