Nonfiction by Trina Chapman
Honourable Mention in the 2025 Dreamers Flash Contest
Dear Mr. Lawyer,
At our Case Conference yesterday, you represented my ex-husband, but for a fleeting moment, I heard you advocate for me while attempting to acknowledge an injustice that caused you discomfort. Your small act of rebellion provided a tiny flicker of hope but didn’t last long.
At an impasse regarding his financial obligation to our youngest child, your client paid you thousands of dollars to avoid helping me house and feed our son. He might’ve paid you more than he owed me.
With you by his side, your client’s words were legitimized. Alone, my voice was little more than a whisper. It held no power. Truth gave me no discernable volume. Neither you nor the judge nor anyone in attendance yesterday knew about the years of therapy it took for me to be there, advocating for myself and my children. How much effort I exerted to thrust through the inertia of conditioning that I don’t matter, just to be present. It felt like a chorus of voices was seeking to cancel out my words so they might wither into a thin wisp and float out beyond the reach of the judicial system. Perhaps it’s easier to silence people than affect change.
Without a lawyer, the cards were stacked against me, but I showed up anyway. And when it became evident we were engaged in a game of “he said, she said,” I suppressed my exasperation, surrendered my position and abandoned the money. Mr. Lawyer, my action wasn’t one of submission; it was an act of emancipation.
You see, my options for moving forward were to remain immersed in legal and financial gridlock with the possibility that truth, integrity, and justice might eventually prevail or to disengage altogether and flourish now, beyond the shadows that have been cast upon me. In walking away, I was standing up. I chose freedom over subservience.
Mr. Lawyer, I am a cycle breaker, responsible for ensuring my children don’t become trapped in the rhythm of partner violence that has reverberated through my family tree. Lacking the courage to advocate for myself in my relationships, I’ve found the strength to do so for my children. After every emotional injury, I’ve repeatedly collected the fragmented pieces of my family and welded them back together until ultimately forging an indestructible armour to protect us.
I’ll weep an abundance of tears on this first day of my liberation because, although things have changed since my mom’s generation, it’s really not all that different now. Mothers continue to cry themselves to sleep while they remain imprisoned one way or another. Still, I’ve never let the darkness steal the light and joy of motherhood from me. My children have taught me not only that I deserve love but how to receive it. My home is filled with pictures from vacations, board game nights, and Thanksgiving dinners; they represent the currency I prioritized in court yesterday. They are reminders of my armour.
Mr. Lawyer, I’ve been determined enough to protect my family alone, without a system to advocate for us, an affluent family to back me or a lawyer I could afford. I grieve for the legal apparatus to which you have committed your life. Conceived to ensure no harm, it can be twisted into a tool that aids wealthy manipulators in maintaining control and punishment. Justice was not delivered to me yesterday. There is no fairness in unequal legal representation. But in my hopelessness, I heard your brief endeavour to advocate for me. I saw your humanity. And I saw you see me, however temporary it was.
My chance at justice has passed, but soon, Mr. Lawyer, another client will cross your threshold. You’ll read his ex-wife’s Case Conference Brief and see me and my children there. Perhaps you’ll recognize our story in the pages of her sorrow and desperation, and maybe you’ll be reminded why you chose Family Law as a vocation and why you continue to choose it daily. In that moment, Mr. Lawyer, you’ll have the opportunity to make an authentic difference for another mother, and I hope—like me—you choose freedom over subservience, too.
About the Author – Trina Chapman
Trina Chapman is an emerging writer whose essays have appeared in The Write Launch, Cool Beans Lit. and Half and One. She won an Honourable Mention in the 2023 Writer’s Digest Annual Writing Competition. Trina holds a double bachelor’s degree in English and International Development Studies from the University of Guelph. After a fulfilling teaching career, Trina is now an MFA student at the University of King’s College, where she is writing her memoir, entitled The Aster Glass: Violence, Revelation, and Hope. She spends her free time homeschooling the youngest of her seven children, paddleboarding on local lakes, and obsessing over fermenting the perfect bottle of kombucha. Trina is a repeat adopter of rescue dogs and lives with her family in Halifax, Nova Scotia. www.trinachapman.com
Meanwhile, at Dreamers…
Results of the 2025 Dreamers Flash Contest
Congratulations to the winners of the 2025 Dreamers Flash Fiction and Nonfiction Contest!
Enter the Dreamers Flash Contest – Due Sept. 30
Submit a fiction or nonfiction story of between 300 and 1000 words for your chance to win! The winner will receive $150 CAD and a copy of the Dreamers magazine.