In five short months mine and Patrick’s son will turn 16 years old. The day he turns 16, if he sets foot in Ontario, Canada, he will not be legally required to return to me. I suspect, by the time that day arrives, he is going to leave and I am not going to hear from him again. I cannot, reasonably, blame him – not after all the misery I’ve brought into his life over the past 5 years – but I will. I will say he’s an ungrateful, spoiled bastard. I will blame it on Patrick. I will insist Patrick turned him against me, filled his head with lies that I am a monster.
Between now and his 16th birthday, I’m not going to allow him to visit his father, Patrick, in Canada because it just would be too easy for him to simply decide not to return; and too close to his 16th birthday for me to do much about it. I know, without any doubt, that if our son were to visit Patrick within the next few months, he would not return. Oh, Patrick would bring him to the airport at the time I would command him to, but after passing through security, when Patrick would no longer be with him, he would simply turn around walk away. The security cameras at the airport would show that Patrick did bring him there, so I wouldn’t be able to accuse him failing to return our child.
But even if I don’t allow our son to visit, it’s still just so easy for him to walk out the door of my house at any moment between now and then, catch a flight, a Greyhound, or an Amtrak, to the Canadian border and never have to deal with any of my fucked up shit any more. Patrick has set up a trust fund for him, so money wouldn’t be an issue. And getting a few thousand dollars and a throw-away mobile phone to him is simply a matter of making a call to an attorney or investigator in Tucson.
I was listening to the recording of the most recent child custody hearing Patrick and I had, back on March 28, 2016. I noticed the judge made multiple references to our son turning 16 in a few months – but no mention of my allegation that Patrick said when he turns 16 he’s going to take our son to Ontario. It almost seems as though the judge was hinting that, “Yes, that is the law and when he turns 16 he can go to Ontario and there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it.” I’m starting to wonder if maybe that has anything to do with why the judge gave me full discretion on all contact and visitation. He probably knows our son is going to split within a few months anyway.
Maybe I can take some solace in knowing that I live in the middle of fucking nowhere, so that ungrateful bastard wouldn’t be able to get too far. Then again, there are taxis. There’s no reason he can’t just take a taxi to the airport.
God damn it! There’s got to be some way I can stop the kid from going back with his father! I mean, that’s what it’s all about, right?
Seems to me, the only way to make sure that little fucker doesn’t take off is to never let him go outside; never let him go out with his friends; never let him go anywhere without me! The school year is over soon – but until then, there’s always the chance he might take off from school!
Ah fuck, I guess I’m just going to have to resolve myself to the fact that at any moment, from this point on, that spoiled, piece of shit son of mine could vanish and I will never, ever hear from him again. He’ll go live up there in Canada with all the other fuckwad Eskimos, and talk about how great his asshole father is. Fuck them both!
I fucking hate it when I lose!