Chapter 2: Fighting for Scraps

Six months later

The fluorescent lights in the courthouse hallway buzzed like angry wasps, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. Elara sat on the hard wooden bench, her hands folded in her lap to hide their trembling, watching Marcus pace near the water fountain in his thousand-dollar suit.

He looked exactly the same—perfectly groomed, radiating confidence and entitlement. She looked like a different person entirely.

The woman who had thrown him out six months ago had been soft around the edges, worn down by years of psychological warfare disguised as marriage. The woman sitting on this bench was lean from too many skipped meals, her cheekbones sharp, her eyes holding a hardness that hadn't been there before. Her dress was clean but old, purchased from a consignment shop with carefully hoarded dollars.

She'd learned to make a dollar stretch further than she'd ever imagined possible.

"Mrs. Thorne?" The court clerk appeared at her elbow. "Judge Martinez will see you now."

Elara stood, smoothing her skirt. Across the hall, Marcus's lawyer—the predatory Harold Brennan with his silver hair and dead shark eyes—whispered something in his client's ear. Marcus glanced over and smirked, that same dismissive expression that had once made her shrink into herself.

Not anymore.

The courtroom was smaller than she'd expected, wood-paneled and intimidating. Judge Martinez, a stern-faced woman in her fifties, looked up from a stack of papers as they filed in.

"This is a motion for temporary spousal and child support," Judge Martinez announced. "Mr. Brennan, you represent the defendant?"

"Yes, Your Honor. My client, Mr. Marcus Thorne, disputes the need for any support payments. Mrs. Thorne left the marriage of her own volition and—"

"Your Honor," Elara's court-appointed lawyer, a tired-looking man named David Chen, interrupted. "My client was forced to leave due to domestic violence. Mr. Thorne has frozen all marital assets and left her and two minor children with no means of support."

Marcus leaned back in his chair, radiating boredom. She remembered that look from their marriage—the way he'd tune out whenever she tried to discuss anything that mattered to her. Bills, the children's needs, her own slowly suffocating dreams. Nothing had ever been important enough to hold his attention unless it served him directly.

"Mr. Thorne," Judge Martinez addressed him directly. "You've provided no financial support to your wife and children for six months?"

Marcus stood smoothly. "Your Honor, I've been more than generous. I've allowed them to remain in the family home—"

"Which you're trying to force them out of," Judge Martinez cut him off, scanning the papers. "You filed for eviction three times."

"The mortgage is expensive, and frankly, Your Honor, my wife has never worked. She has no skills, no education beyond a bachelor's degree she received over a decade ago. She chose to be dependent, and now she expects to be rewarded for that choice."

The words hit Elara like physical blows, each one carefully chosen to diminish her. In the early days after he'd left, she'd almost believed them. She'd spent entire nights lying awake, cataloguing her inadequacies, convinced she was exactly as worthless as he said.

But six months of desperation had taught her otherwise.

Six months of walking to the grocery store because she couldn't afford gas, of choosing between paying the electric bill and buying Jake new shoes when his feet outgrew his old ones. Six months of explaining to Sophie why they couldn't buy the cereal with the cartoon character, why they had to get the store brand instead.

Six months of small kindnesses from strangers that had restored her faith in humanity: the grocery store cashier who "forgot" to scan an item when she saw Elara counting change, the neighbor who left bags of hand-me-down clothes on her doorstep, the librarian who quietly waived late fees and suggested job search resources.

Six months of rebuilding herself from nothing.

"Mrs. Thorne," Judge Martinez said, "tell me about your current living situation."

Elara stood, her voice steadier than she'd expected. "Your Honor, my children and I are living on approximately two hundred dollars a month in food stamps. I've been applying for jobs, but childcare costs more than most entry-level positions pay. My son Jake is in third grade, my daughter Sophie is in pre-K. They've had to switch schools twice because we couldn't afford the private school fees."

"And Mr. Thorne's income?"

David Chen shuffled through his papers. "Mr. Thorne earns approximately four hundred thousand annually, Your Honor. Plus bonuses and stock options."

Judge Martinez's eyebrows rose slightly. She looked back at Marcus with new interest. "Four hundred thousand, and you've provided nothing for six months?"

"As I said, Your Honor, the courts haven't ordered me to—"

"The courts haven't ordered you to feed your children?" Judge Martinez's voice could have frozen water. "Mr. Thorne, do you have any idea what the poverty line is for a family of three?"

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. Of course he didn't. He'd probably spent more on his last business dinner than Elara had on groceries in a month.

"Your Honor," Harold Brennan interjected, "my client has significant expenses. His downtown apartment, his vehicle payments, his business obligations—"

"His business obligations don't supersede his obligation to his children," Judge Martinez snapped. She turned back to Elara. "Mrs. Thorne, what are you seeking?"

"Four thousand a month in spousal support, two thousand in child support, Your Honor. Enough to keep the children stable while I get back on my feet."

She heard Marcus snort behind her. Even now, even here, he couldn't hide his contempt.

Judge Martinez heard it too. "Something amusing, Mr. Thorne?"

"Your Honor, six thousand a month is more than many people make in salary. For someone with no job skills—"

"Someone whose career you deliberately sabotaged," Judge Martinez interrupted, consulting the file again. "Mrs. Thorne had a promising career in marketing before the marriage, is that correct?"

"Yes, Your Honor. I was a marketing coordinator at Brennan & Associates—"

"The same firm where Mr. Brennan works," Judge Martinez noted dryly. "How convenient. And you left that position why?"

Elara glanced at Marcus, remembering the subtle pressure, the constant complaints about her work schedule, the way he'd made her feel selfish for wanting anything outside their home. "My husband felt it was important for me to be available for his business entertaining and to care for the children full-time."

"I see." Judge Martinez made a note. "And now that you're divorced, you're expected to magically develop job skills and childcare solutions while living in poverty."

Harold Brennan stood again. "Your Honor, if I may—"

"You may not." Judge Martinez's voice was arctic. "I've seen enough cases like this to recognize the pattern, Mr. Brennan. Your client systematically isolated his wife, made her financially dependent, and now wants to use that dependence as a weapon."

She turned to Marcus directly. "Mr. Thorne, you will pay eight thousand dollars a month total—four thousand in spousal support, four thousand in child support. Retroactive to the date of separation. That's forty-eight thousand dollars you owe immediately, plus the monthly payments going forward."

The number hit the courtroom like a thunderclap. Elara's knees nearly buckled with relief. It wasn't everything, but it was enough. Enough to keep the lights on, to put food on the table, to let her children sleep peacefully without worrying about tomorrow.

Marcus shot to his feet. "Your Honor, that's completely unreasonable—"

"What's unreasonable, Mr. Thorne, is a man who makes four hundred thousand a year letting his children live in poverty out of spite. The order is effective immediately."

As they filed out of the courtroom, Elara felt lighter than she had in months. Forty-eight thousand dollars. It seemed like an impossible fortune after six months of counting quarters.

But as they reached the hallway, Marcus caught up with her, his lawyer trailing behind with a thunderous expression.

"You think you've won something?" Marcus's voice was low, venomous. "You think this changes anything?"

David Chen stepped forward protectively, but Elara held up a hand. She could handle this.

"I think our children will be able to eat," she said calmly. "I think they'll have heat this winter. I think that's enough for now."

Marcus leaned closer, his perfectly white teeth bared in something that wasn't quite a smile. "I'm not paying a dime of this. Let them try to make me."

Harold Brennan grabbed his client's arm. "Marcus, not here—"

But Marcus shook him off, his mask finally slipping completely. "You hear me, Elara? Not one fucking dime. You want money? Earn it. The way the rest of us do."

He stalked away, leaving Elara standing in the courthouse hallway with something new burning in her chest. Not fear this time. Not desperation.

Rage. Pure, clean rage.

She turned to David Chen, who was shaking his head. "Can he do that? Just refuse to pay?"

"He can try," David said grimly. "But contempt of court is a serious charge. If he refuses to comply with the judge's order..."

"What happens then?"

David's smile was sharp. "Then we go back to court. And judges don't like being ignored."

That night, Elara sat at her kitchen table with a yellow legal pad, making lists. Everything Marcus had taught her about his business, his accounts, his weaknesses. Every detail of their shared financial life that he assumed she'd been too stupid to notice.

He thought she'd been a decoration, a pretty accessory to his perfect life. He'd never realized she'd been watching, learning, filing away information she'd never thought she'd need.

Jake wandered into the kitchen in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes. "Mom? Are you okay?"

She pulled him onto her lap, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo. "I'm better than okay, sweetheart. We're going to be fine."

"Did we win today?"

Elara looked down at her legal pad, covered with notes and strategies and the beginnings of a plan that would take years to execute. Marcus thought he could starve them into submission, thought he could use his money and connections to crush her spirit the way he'd been doing for years.

He was about to learn how wrong he was.

"Yes, baby," she whispered against Jake's hair. "We won. And we're just getting started."