By the time he left, I had nothing. No savings, no lawyer, no one in my corner except my kids. He cut off the joint account and moved in with someone new. He hired a lawyer right away. I couldn’t even afford one. I went to the free legal clinic at the county courthouse, holding a folder full of receipts and photos of my kids eating boxed macaroni on paper towels because we didn’t have clean dishes.

Our apartment was small. I worked two cleaning jobs under the table just to stay ahead of the rent. We didn’t have cable or internet. I washed my kids’ clothes by hand in the bathtub sometimes. The water heater barely worked, so I’d boil water on the stove and mix it in buckets. Luca never complained. Arya would hum little songs while I scrubbed her socks. I didn’t tell anyone how bad it got, not even my mother. I was too ashamed.

When the court date came, I was terrified. Derek had filed for full custody, claiming I was unfit, unstable, poor. His lawyer was brutal. They brought spreadsheets and photos of his beautiful home. They wore expensive suits and smiled like everything was already decided. I walked into the courtroom with a borrowed dress, a hand-me-down blazer, and a plastic folder with school records and a letter from our landlord confirming I’d never missed a payment. I knew it wasn’t enough, but I had to try. For Luca, for Arya.