The courtroom was packed.
Journalists filled the back rows. Cameras were banned inside, but sketches would flood the tabloids by evening.
Maria sat on one side with her lawyer—a sharp, passionate woman named Adaeze. On the other, the Madu family's legal team, cold and calculating.
Alexander entered last, flanked by his own attorney. He nodded once at Maria, reassuring.
The judge, a stern woman in her sixties, adjusted her glasses and began.
"This is a hearing to determine custodial rights over Junior Madu, aged five…"
Maria's heart pounded.
The Madu family's lawyer was ruthless. They painted Maria as an unstable woman—poor, overwhelmed, reckless with media.
"She used her son to gain sympathy and attention," the lawyer said. "Clearly not fit to manage a child in today's environment."
Then Adaeze stood.
"Maria Obasi raised this boy alone—without child support, without shelter, without scandal. Her crime? Telling the truth. Her strength? Protecting her child."
The judge listened carefully, saying little.
Midway through, Maria was called to testify.
She spoke with calm clarity.
"I was alone. I was scared. But I never used my son for gain. I only ever tried to give him love."
Then they called Alexander.
He rose, took the stand, and when asked who he believed was the better parent, he looked at Maria and said:
"She is. I have money. Power. But she has heart. And no child grows without that."
A hush filled the room.
And slowly, the judge nodded.
"This court will consider all arguments carefully. A final ruling will be given next week."
As they walked out, cameras flashing, Maria didn't flinch.
She had spoken her truth.
Now it was time to wait.