A Father's Love by David Goldman Page B

something. We can’t really do anything until an actual attempt has been made and there is proof.”
    Great , I thought, so an attempt on my life or worse has to be made before they can take action. “Well, I’m not going to stop until I get my son back home,” I said.
    John nodded. “Okay, fine. Then you should leave your house for a while.”
    I moved out of my home and stayed with my parents for a few days. Then, thinking that I might be putting them in danger, for a couple of weeks I slept on my boat in parts of the bay where I knew I’d be hard to find. During that time, I’d stop by the house every so often, just to pick up my mail or some fresh clothing. On several occasions I found evidence indicating that somebody had been snooping around my house. Someone had been trying to pull mail out of my mailbox slot. A couple of times I came home and found cigarette butts, still burning, on my front stoop. It was clear that somebody wanted me to know he or she had been there.
    I admit that at times I let the circumstances get the best of me and I succumbed to imagining all sorts of outlandish scenarios. For instance, it seemed within the realm of possibility that someday I might flip the switch on my boat and trigger an explosion. I quickly discounted such negative thoughts and attributed them to watching too many movies. I decided that I would not live in fear, and after a few weeks I moved back home, with a Louisville Slugger baseball bat and a can of mace. These people had already stolen my son. I was not going to allow them to steal my life as well. If they tried to kill me, I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

    I COULD NEVER have imagined that fateful evening as I took my family to the airport and kissed them good-bye that our fairy-tale love story would disintegrate into an incredible tale of deception and tragedy, a bitter legal battle between Bruna’s family and me waged over international borders. Nor could I have guessed that the nightmare would continue for so long.
    People often say there are two sides to every story. But if that was the case, Bruna would have trumpeted her charges on the first and every subsequent page of her court filings. Had there been any abuse in our marriage, neglect, drugs, alcohol, or infidelity, she would surely have spelled this out in court documents against me. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. There were no skeletons in my closet.
    On August 26, 2004, the Superior Court of New Jersey granted the first of many orders for Sean’s return. The court order demanded that Bruna return Sean to Tinton Falls within forty-eight hours of receiving the notice. It also froze Bruna’s personal bank account, which contained around three thousand dollars, as well as the Ribeiros’ New Jersey bank account, containing slightly more than nineteen thousand dollars. Nor were the Ribeiros permitted to sell or transfer their beachfront condominium until further order from the court in New Jersey. The court order essentially granted temporary custody of Sean to me, pending any final decisions that might be entertained after his return. Moreover, the court order clearly stated that any violation of the order or retention of Sean could constitute the crime of kidnapping.
    When Bruna failed to comply with the court order, on September 3, 2004, I asserted my rights as the “left-behind parent” under the Hague Convention on International Abductions in an effort to enlist Brazil’s assistance in returning my son. Although I didn’t fully realize its importance at the time, the date of the filing was crucial. To compel the return of an abducted child under the Hague treaty, the left-behind parent must formally assert his or her rights within one year of the abduction. I had filed with the U.S. Department of State requesting Sean’s return approximately six weeks after he failed to return home and I filed the application with the