There was a pause.
“Child support,” he said.
The word landed harder than anything else.
“If I lose everything,” he continued, “I lose my income. And if I don’t have income, I can’t pay you. The court can’t force money that doesn’t exist.”
I went quiet.
Eight kids. Eight futures.
Suddenly, this wasn’t about revenge. It was about survival.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll talk to her.”
The next morning, I drove to Margaret’s house. My hands were shaking when I rang the doorbell. When she opened it, we stared at each other for a long moment.
Then I did something I never imagined I would do.
I dropped to my knees.
“Please don’t cut Daniel off,” I said. “I don’t care about him. But think about the children.”
“Claire, get up,” she said sharply.
I stood, embarrassed, but desperate.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.