The Dispute

Courtroom

The courthouse was nearly empty, the sun setting behind the dull glass windows casting a tired golden glow across the courtroom. Ben, the young reporter, shifted in his seat, stifling a yawn. He glanced around, the echo of distant footsteps the only other sound beyond the monotone voices of the proceedings. It was his third trial of the day, and he was tired.

The judge called the court to order with a nod to the prosecutor. Ben scribbled lazily in his notebook, thinking of the cup of coffee waiting for him back at the office. From the looks of it, this was just another property dispute—a family matter, nothing really interesting, he thought. The security guard had said as much when Ben had asked earlier. A husband and wife disagreeing over their house, and a little girl caught in the middle. It all seemed so ordinary, so mundane. The courtroom didn’t buzz with drama; instead, there was an indifference that hung over the place.

The prosecutor, an older man with a thin mustache, addressed the court. "Your Honor, we will now hear the testimony of Officer Jenkins, who responded to the call." Ben noted that down—Officer Jenkins. Domestic disturbance. Nothing out of the ordinary. The officer took the stand, his uniform crisp but his demeanor casual, almost bored. He described how he had been patrolling the area when he got the call.

“I arrived at the scene,” Officer Jenkins said, “and spoke to the husband. He seemed cooperative, said it was all a misunderstanding. I didn’t see any reason to escalate things, so I left.” The prosecutor nodded, seemingly satisfied, and Ben wrote down a few more words. Misunderstanding. No escalation. He wondered why they were even in court over something so minor.

Next, the prosecutor introduced a written statement, supposedly from the wife. Ben blinked and adjusted his glasses. He hadn’t noticed her in the room. Maybe she was too upset to testify in person? The prosecutor cleared his throat and read from the paper, his voice a flat monotone that echoed through the nearly empty courtroom.

“My husband and I had some misunderstandings,” the statement began, “but I love him, and I want us to move forward as a family.” Ben’s pen hovered over the page, then scratched out a note: Wife supportive of husband. Wants to reconcile. He glanced at the husband sitting beside his lawyer, his face calm, almost serene. The man had the air of someone who believed he’d been wronged, and Ben couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. Maybe the wife really was trying to push him out of the house. It happened all the time in family disputes.

The defense attorney took his turn, standing and speaking in a voice that dripped with sincerity. He spoke about the husband—a good man, hard-working, trying his best to take care of his family. “He’s ready to reconcile,” the attorney said. “He wants to be there for his daughter.” Ben noted the word ‘reconcile’ again. It seemed like that was all anyone wanted, really. To put this silly family squabble behind them.

The judge, an older man with a tired face, smiled at the little girl sitting beside the bailiff. “Do you want to say something, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice gentle. The girl, no more than seven or eight, looked around nervously before speaking in a soft voice. “I miss Mommy,” she said, her small hands fidgeting in her lap. “Daddy says everything will be okay. One time, Mommy fell down and wouldn't wake up.”

Ben scribbled furiously. He missed the significance of what she said, his focus only on how sweet and innocent the girl seemed. The judge smiled warmly. “Of course, sweetheart,” he said. “Thank you for being so brave today.” He turned to the defense attorney, who nodded, and the judge seemed ready to move things along.

The husband stood then, his voice carrying a calm, almost dismissive tone. “I just want to go home,” he said. “I want to take care of my daughter and move forward.” Ben wrote it down: Husband wants to go home. Take care of daughter. Family reconciliation.

The judge leaned back in his chair, a look of disinterest crossing his face. “Thank you all,” he said. “I think we’ve heard enough. We’ll adjourn for today, and I’ll render my decision tomorrow.” He gave a polite smile, and with that, the trial was over.

Ben closed his notebook and sighed. Another boring family matter, he thought. Nothing worth writing home about. He packed his bag and made his way back to the office.

Newspaper Office

“Come in, kid!” Mr. Harper’s voice boomed through the half-open door. Ben stepped inside, clutching his notebook, trying to muster some enthusiasm. The office was cluttered, papers and old coffee cups scattered across the desk. Mr. Harper, his boss, sat behind it, eyebrows raised.

“So, what’ve you got for me today?” Harper asked, his tone expectant but laced with sarcasm. Ben took a deep breath and began to explain.

“It’s a family property dispute,” Ben said, flipping through his notes. “The husband and wife were fighting over their house, I think. The wife wasn’t there, but she sent a statement. It’s all a bit confusing, but the gist is that they want to reconcile. The husband wants to take care of his daughter—”

“Property dispute?” Harper cut in, his face scrunching up in disbelief. “That’s what you’ve got for me? I send you to the courthouse, and you bring back a property dispute?”

Ben shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yeah, I mean, that’s what it seemed like. They were talking about the house, and there was some misunderstanding—”

Harper shook his head, a mix of frustration and amusement in his eyes. “Kid, I need something with a bit of bite. Scandal. Drama. Murder, maybe. Not a family squabble over who gets the living room.”

Ben tried to protest, “But the husband, he said he wants to reconcile, and the little girl—”

“Reconcile, schmoncile!” Harper waved a hand dismissively. “No one cares about that kind of fluff. I need a story that’ll make people sit up, something real. This? This is nothing.” He tossed Ben’s notebook onto the desk, and Ben felt his cheeks flush.

“But—” Ben started.

“No buts,” Harper said, his tone softening just a little. “Look, you did your job, but sometimes there just isn’t a story. We’ll find something better next time.” He gave Ben a reassuring nod, as if to say it wasn’t entirely his fault.

Ben picked up his notebook, nodding slowly. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Harper. I’ll keep looking.”

“Good man,” Harper said, already turning his attention to something else on his desk. “Now go get yourself a coffee, you look like you need it.”

Ben left the office, his head spinning a bit. Maybe Harper was right. Maybe it wasn’t much of a story. He flipped through his notes as he walked away, the words blurring together. Reconciliation. Property dispute. Sweet little girl. Daddy says everything will be okay.

He shrugged it off, tucking the notebook under his arm. Maybe tomorrow would bring something more exciting. Something worth writing about.