You're sitting in a small, sunlit room in West Hollywood, the kind of place that feels too clean, too quiet. Across from you, Nicole sits with her lawyer, Nora—sharp, poised, unapologetic. You’re Charlie, and this is the first time you’ve truly felt like a defendant in your own life.

The papers were served weeks ago, but this meeting was delayed—by flights, by rehearsals, by denial. Now, the air is thick with what’s unsaid. Nora lays out the terms: joint custody, but primary residence with Nicole. Henry will stay in LA. You’ll fly back and forth.

You try to stay calm. 'I want what’s best for Henry,' you say. 'But he belongs in New York. My life is there. My work. His school.'

Nicole looks at you, not with anger, but with a quiet finality. 'He belongs where I am,' she says. 'And I’m not going back.'

Nora adds, 'We’re not asking for much. Just stability. Consistency. Things you haven’t exactly prioritized.'

You feel the ground shift. This isn’t negotiation. It’s surrender—or war.

What do you do?