Chapter 4 - The Legal Battle Begins
The transition back to reality was brutal. While Ava stayed with Evelyn in the country to finish
her school semester online, I insisted on returning to Columbus with Dad. I couldn't let him face
the storm alone. I enrolled in a temporary independent study program so I could help keep our
temporary apartment clean and accompany him to meetings with his divorce attorney, a sharp,
formidable woman named Marcus Vance.
We sat in Marcus’s high-rise office downtown, the walls lined with heavy leather books and
awards.
“Denise’s legal team is playing dirty,” Marcus said, tossing a thick folder onto the mahogany
desk. “They’ve filed a motion for an emergency custody hearing, claiming that Richard is
mentally unstable and that you girls are being kept in an unsafe environment. They’ve even gone
so far as to suggest that the 'milk incident' was a fabricated story or an accidental spill that
Richard exaggerated to justify throwing his wife out.”
“I have the photos of the kitchen,” Dad said, his jaw clenched. “I took photos of the milk, the
broken pitcher, the girls’ clothes.”
“They will argue those were staged,” Marcus warned. “In family court, without independent
witnesses or physical proof of ongoing abuse, it often becomes a case of 'he-said, she-said.' And
Denise has a flawless public record. She’s volunteered at the local charity boards, she’s active in
the neighborhood association, and she’s got several character references from people who swear
she is a saint.”
I felt a wave of nausea. Denise had spent two years building her public persona for exactly
this reason. She had cultivated friends who only saw her smile, who only saw her bringing baked
goods to block parties. To the outside world, she was the loving stepmother trying to raise two
grieving, difficult girls.
“What about our testimony?” I asked. “I’m sixteen. Can’t I tell the judge what she did to us?
What she did to Ava?”
“Your testimony carries weight, Chloe,” Marcus said, looking at me with gentle but realistic
eyes. “But Denise’s lawyers will paint you as a rebellious teenager who resented her stepmother
from the start. They’ll argue you’ve brainwashed Ava into parroting your lies. We need more. We
need concrete evidence of her pattern of behavior. Did she ever send you threatening texts? Did
she ever leave marks?”
I shook my head, frustration burning in my chest. “No. She was too smart for that. She never
left marks. She used psychological torture. She withheld food, she locked us in our rooms, she
screamed at us when Dad wasn't home. And she always made sure her texts looked perfectly
normal.”
“Then we have a tough hill to climb,” Marcus admitted. “But we aren’t giving up. The
emergency hearing is in two weeks. Until then, Richard, you must keep your distance. Do not
respond to her texts, do not go to the house alone, and do not let her bait you into an argument.
She wants you to snap so she can use it against you.”
That night, as Dad and I walked back to our modest temporary apartment, the air was bitterly
cold. I looked at my dad’s tired face, the slouch in his shoulders, and felt a profound sense of
guilt. He was losing everything because of us.
Just as we reached our door, Dad’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and I saw his face go
completely pale.
He turned the screen to show me. It was a text message from an unknown number, but the
voice was unmistakable.
*“I’m sitting in your living room right now, Richard. The house feels so big and empty without
you. If you want your life back, you know what it costs. Sign over the house and fifty percent of
your pension, and I might just let you keep the little brat. Otherwise, I’ll see you in court, and I
promise you, I’ll make sure the world knows what a failure of a father you really are.”*
May you like
My blood ran cold. She was in our home, using our memories as weapons, and she was
entirely confident that she would win.
