Chapter 1He Lost Everything For A Child That Was Not His

Patrick pointed to the divorce papers resting on the coffee table.

“Child support,” he said, tapping the screen with a dismissive fingernail. “I put down five hundred.”

I stared at the line of text, the number blurring.

"Five hundred? Pat, are you serious?"

“It’s enough,” he clipped, sliding his gaze away. “The kid isn’t solely my responsibility, Eliza.”

I laughed. A sharp, raw sound that caught in my throat and brought unexpected tears to my eyes.

Seven years of marriage. A six-year-old son, Leo.

And he declared five hundred dollars was "enough."

“Sign it if you agree, or don’t. It’s up to you.” He stood, snatching his phone off the arm of the sofa.

The phone immediately buzzed. A text message notification popped up on the screen.

The contact name read: Babe.

* * *

I didn't sign the agreement.

I told him I needed time to "consider."

Patrick huffed, utterly impatient. “What is there to consider?”

“You pull in twelve thousand a month, Pat. Giving your son five hundred dollars for support—does that sound reasonable to you?”

“I have to live, too,” he retorted.

“Leo has to live, too.”

“He’s with you. You take care of his living expenses.”

I drew a long, shaky breath, fighting the urge to shatter the cheap glass table between us.

“Legally, child support is calculated at twenty to thirty percent of the non-custodial parent’s income. That means you should be paying between twenty-four hundred and thirty-six hundred dollars.”

“That’s the law’s suggestion, Eliza. It’s not my obligation.”

“The law defines your obligation.”

He fell silent, his jaw tight. After a moment, his voice dropped to a low, cold register. “Eliza, don’t push me.”

“I’m not pushing you. I’m just demanding what my son is entitled to.”

“You want to drag this to court?”

“If you refuse to be reasonable, then court is where we’re going.”

He glared at me, his eyes colder than I’d ever seen them.

“Fine. You’ll regret this.” He slammed the front door on his way out.

I sank back onto the sofa, staring at the printout. Child support: $500 per month.

Leo is six, in the first grade. Tuition for his magnet school is a couple hundred a month, the after-school program is another five hundred, and his weekend tutoring is at least seven hundred. Plus clothes, doctor visits, and just, life. I spend at least two thousand a month on him.

He was offering five hundred.

I make about forty-five hundred a month. After rent of fifteen hundred, my own basic bills, and Leo’s two thousand... there’s practically nothing left.

Patrick makes twelve thousand. After deductions…

Wait. Where was his money going?

I grabbed my laptop and logged into our joint savings account.

Patrick's direct deposit account. Balance: $1,800.

I felt a chill wash over me. He brings home twelve thousand a month. How could he only have eighteen hundred left?

I clicked on the transaction history.

The most recent transfer: November 28th, $4,000 to "Savannah T."

Memo: Living Expenses.

I scrolled up.

October 28th: $4,000 to "Savannah T."

September 28th: $4,000 to "Savannah T."

August 28th: $4,000 to "Savannah T."

The 28th of every month. $4,000 on the dot.

It had been going on for a full twelve months.

My hand clenched around the phone.

He gives Savannah four thousand dollars a month for “living expenses.”

He would only give his own son five hundred.

My phone chimed. It was Patrick.

Patrick: If you don’t agree to $500, then it’s $300. I won’t give you another penny. Figure it out.

I opened the Venmo app on my phone.