Sometimes fathers should not be awarded custody of their own children. Especially, when there's an ulterior motive. "Three Shattered Souls" is a memoir of how a father gained custody of his three young children and tricked his new wife into raising them. She outwardly rejected his kids, putting them through cruel mental and physical anguish for years. This is a gripping account of the abuse they were forced to endure under the brutal hands of their stepmother. Sometimes it's better for children to live with their unfit birth mother. Especially, if this book exemplifies the alternative.

Auszug. � Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Three Shattered Souls

By James Wilde

AuthorHouse

Copyright � 2009 James Wilde
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-3353-8

Chapter One

I sat in the hallway outside the courtroom, watching as a number of families and attorneys bickered back and forth. Everyone was up in arms about something to do with their case and the noise was unbearable. People of all races and ethnicity were there fighting and screaming. It looked like the whole city was getting divorced. Some were actually trying to fist fight for their kids and I'm not referring to the men. The mothers were the toughest and loudest as it was nerve-racking while sitting there. I did my best not to look at these crazies, but I couldn't help myself. Mitch, Julie and I sat as quiet as mice in the old greenish hallway, sucking in whatever air was available. In those days smoking anywhere was permissible, so between the smoke and heat, my heart was racing non-stop. The three of us stuck to the old beaten bench like squashed bugs on a car windshield. We were sweating and waiting impatiently to find out who we were going to live with, our mother or father.

They were in the final stages of a long drawn out custody battle over us and I was emotionally drained from being dragged to court so often. By the time I was eight years old, the courthouse reminded me of an evil beast. The front door its teeth and mouth while the actual courtroom its belly. I pictured the belly being the pit of hell as my own churned from the horrors that evolved within there.

We soon heard the gavel bang as a muffled voice announced that court was adjourned. As young children, we didn't realize how that sound was the death of our old lives and the hatching of our new ones. That resounding noise was the decision we had to accept and live with forever. Our votes didn't even count and we didn't understand the impact of the verdict. By being so very young, forever didn't mean much and trying to perceive it meant even less. Regardless of our understanding, our fates were sealed and ready or not we had to survive it.

The bizarre outcome was surprising to everyone. Men normally didn't win custody from the maternal mother and that was exactly what happened. My father was awarded custody of my brother Mitch, my sister Julie and me. I was the oldest sibling and probably had the best understanding of what was happening to us. For two years my parents had been fighting over who would retain custody of our lives. Both of them fought like nasty rabid dogs and even had us involved. By being involved, I mean seeing shrinks, speaking with social workers and of course, the infamous attorneys. None of them really cared about the effects it had on us and my father was even worse. Every visit was grill time, "What did your mother do? Did your mother have a friend over? Were you taken care of or were you left alone? Did you see any naked people walking around the house?" My father continuously accused my mother of being a whore and constantly tried convincing us she was screwing everyone.

The courts decision was based on the grounds of infidelity and my mother being an unfit parent. Given that we lived in the same house, I never witnessed her with other men nor did my siblings. That's what was so comical about us being grilled by all the involved parties. Even if we saw an infraction, we were in no position to know. Most of our day-to-day education derived from the television and in those days TV showed married couples sleeping in two different beds.

After the people started filing out of the courtroom, we were confused about our situation. Were we to go with our father or our mother? We had been pulled in so many different directions in the past that we didn't know who was going to claim us this time. Our father cleared that up real fast. He came charging out and started pushing all three of us through the crowd. My mother, grandmother and grandfather were trailing behind him. They didn't seem like they were attempting to catch up, but faltering behind. They reminded me of zombies, just following the rest of the people out of the courtroom. They resembled sheep being led to a spring slaughter.

My father kept shoving and telling us to move faster with an agitated tone in his voice. It was the familiar voice which conveyed punishment if we didn't start moving at a faster pace and we certainly wanted no part of that. Eventually we made it to his car, the old white LTD sedan. He opened the door behind the driver seat and quickly pushed us in with his shaky hands. He then slammed the door shut and literally leaped into the driver seat. It was like one smooth motion previously planned out. Our heads were spinning as we were trying to comprehend the immediate rush. No goodbyes. No kisses or hugs. No one saying, "We will see you next weekend." It was like a movie in fast motion. He quickly sparked up a cigarette while hastily squealing out of the parking lot. All of us looked back through the window and couldn't conceive what was happening. I saw my mother hunched over crying as my grandmother was trying to comfort her. My grandfather looked like a man defeated. He just shook his head and had his frail arms crossed against his chest. He appeared as if he was trying to fight off the tears which my mother and grandmother were spilling all over the sidewalk. At that moment, I remember feeling cold and empty inside. It seemed somehow everyone was hurting except my father. I truly felt through the process, our answers to the court somehow impacted this outcome. I harbored a deep guilt complex, which tore at my insides for years to come. This was the turning point of our lives and I thought we had sabotaged our mother.

The windows were rolled up as the air conditioning was on full blast, fighting the recycled smoke. My father was a habitual chain smoker and was on his second cigarette when he started to explain our future plans.

"Ok kids, court is over and we never have to go back there again," he said, sounding relieved. "That was it kids. The judge agreed you all are not allowed to ever see or call your mother or grandparents ever again. Your mother did a bunch of bad things to you kids and the judge doesn't want her to hurt you anymore. She and your grandparents could mess up your heads and make you crazy like your mother. The judge felt by not ever talking or seeing them again would keep you kids from going crazy."

We all sat in the back of the car in shock without responding. It was as if someone sucked the life out of us. "Go crazy," I thought. "What did she do to go crazy? I never thought of my mom as crazy." Throughout this whole mess, my father always threatened to send us to a psychiatrist whenever we acted up. He told us we would be locked up if the doctor thought we were nuts and it always worked. We were deathly afraid of being locked up and the word "crazy" was generously thrown around by my father. My darkest fear at that time was being thrown into the loony bin.

My father rambled on with his impassionate explanation and as he spoke, he seemed to get more and more emotional about the new situation. "I want you kids to know that I married Hamar. You remember her? She was the lady we visited a while back and had two kids. You remember Shlomo and Samara? They lived in that apartment and we all went out for ice cream." Mitch and Julie just sat there in the smoke filled car emotionless, but I remembered them. Who could forget? The lady's English was so horrid that I couldn't understand a single word she said. I didn't know how my dad was able to communicate with her. I had no idea what country she was from, but I sure...

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