“About five months,” Russell muttered.

I stared across the aisle. Five months. He said it the way you’d describe a clerical error, not the weeks I’d spent panicking over whether the lights would stay on.

Judge Leonard turned to me. “Mrs. Davenport, do you have documentation of the missed payments?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” My voice shook as I opened my folder.

I handed over bank records, state notices, printed texts. In one, Russell had written: You need to learn to manage your own budget instead of expecting me to fix your life. My reply, right beneath it: I’m only asking for the child support Toby is legally owed.

Judge Leonard read every line. Sensing the shift, Benedict produced a printed email chain, claiming it showed I’d proudly refused Russell’s offers to buy Toby new clothes.