by Quinn Pierce I sat on the now familiar, well worn bench outside the courtroom, and I watched the strained faces of the people around me as I waited for our name to be called. It was our fourth appearance in the family court due to my son's unexcused absences resulting from an illness the school has yet to acknowledge. The whole process has been exhausting, to say the least, but it's been made even worse by the carnival-like antics being performed by my ex-husband and his lawyer. As usual, a situation that should solely be about supporting our child has been turned into another Look At Me, I'm the Victim one-act play. It seems that any captive audience lately has become an op …
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