Chapter 17: As Richard's voice rises to a shout in the courtroom, Ellie calmly removes her oversized sweater to reveal the fading bruises on her arms - the silent evidence that makes the judge's gavel come down like thunder.
The Millrise County Courthouse smelled like despair and lemon-scented polish. Ellie sat on a hard, wooden bench outside the courtroom, her hands clenched so tight in her lap her knuckles were white moons. The green linen of her dress—a real dress that fit, bought with Dee egging her on—felt foreign against her skin.
“Breathe, Ellie. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” Dee, a fierce presence in a sharp black blazer, squeezed her shoulder. “He’s got nothing. Your lawyer has the receipts, the footage, the whole damn manifesto of his dickishness.”
“It’s the manifesto part that scares me,” Ellie whispered. The idea of all her private humiliations being read aloud in that room made her stomach twist.
The door to the courtroom opened, and Richard stepped out, flanked by his own slick-haired lawyer. He looked thinner, meaner, like a cornered animal. His eyes, always so good at projecting hurt innocence, locked onto Ellie with pure, unadulterated venom. He shrugged off his lawyer’s hand and walked straight towards her.
Dee stood up, a human shield. “Take a hike, Richard.”
He ignored her, leaning down close to Ellie. His breath smelled of stale coffee and chewing gum. “You look pleased with yourself,” he hissed, his voice low enough that only they could hear. “Playing the victim in your new clothes. How much is he paying for this performance? Or are you just fucking him for free now?”
Before Ellie could even flinch, Dee stepped between them. “Back off, parasite. Your audience is in there.” She jerked her thumb toward the courtroom door.
Richard’s lawyer, looking exasperated, pulled him back. “Not here, Richard. Save it for the judge.”
But Richard’s composure, the mask he’d worn for years in their marriage, was shattered. The final financial disclosures had been brutal. His business was floundering, his debts were mounting, and Ellie wasn’t fighting for a dime. She just wanted out. His power over her was evaporating, and he couldn’t stand it.
Inside the courtroom, the air was dense and still. The judge, a weary-looking woman with silver glasses perched on her nose, shuffled papers. Ellie’s lawyer, a calm, middle-aged woman named Susan, gave her a reassuring nod.
The formalities began, dry and procedural. Then the judge addressed Richard. “Mr. Davies, the petition for dissolution is straightforward. Mrs. Davies is seeking no spousal support, no division of your business assets. She’s asking for her personal effects and a clean break. Your counter-petition alleges infidelity on her part. Do you have evidence to substantiate this?”
Richard stood up, smoothing his tie. He looked at the judge, then turned his gaze to Ellie, a performative sorrow twisting his features. “Your Honor, I don’t want to air dirty laundry. But my wife… she changed. After she started spending time with this… out-of-town financier, Jasper Thornton, her entire demeanor shifted. She abandoned our home. She became secretive. I believe she was motivated by his wealth. I’m concerned she’s being manipulated, or worse, that she entered into an… inappropriate relationship while we were still attempting to reconcile.”
Ellie felt the heat of shame crawl up her neck, even though it was a lie. Dee’s hand clamped over hers under the table, a bolt of grounding fury.
“Your Honor,” Susan said, her voice cool and clear. “My client separated from Mr. Davies over seven months ago, a fact documented with the filing. Her friendship with Mr. Thornton began well after that separation. Mr. Davies’s claims are a smokescreen.”
The judge peered over her glasses. “Mr. Davies, ‘belief’ and ‘concern’ are not evidence. Do you have any concrete proof? Photographs? Communications?”
Richard’s jaw worked. “She’s always been… suggestible. Impressionable. This man swept her off her feet with money and promises. It’s gold-digging, plain and simple. She’s after what he has.”
Susan didn’t even stand. She opened a folder. “Your Honor, if we’re discussing inappropriate relationships and manipulation, I’d like to submit Exhibit F. A compilation of social media posts, credit card receipts from The Chateau Motel, and sworn affidavits from three separate women, all dated during the last two years of the marriage, detailing Mr. Davies’s extramarital affairs.” She slid a thick stack of papers to the bailiff. “Additionally, Exhibit G: security camera footage from my client’s studio apartment, dated approximately ten weeks ago, showing Mr. Davies attempting to gain forcible entry, followed by a verbal altercation where he threatened my client.”
A monitor was wheeled out. The grainy, silent footage played. There was Richard, his face contorted, jamming his key into the changed lock, then pounding on the door. Ellie watched her own smaller frame appear in the doorway, saw Richard’s aggressive posture, his finger jabbing toward her face. She remembered the cold fear, the smell of his cologne and anger. Watching it now, from this distance, she felt a strange detachment. That woman on the screen seemed both familiar and a world away.
Richard had gone pale. “That’s— she provoked me! She changed the locks!”
“On a property from which she had legally separated, Your Honor,” Susan interjected smoothly. “A property she was entitled to secure for her own safety.”
The judge watched the rest of the footage in silence. When it ended, she removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She looked at Richard not with anger, but with a profound, weary disappointment. “Mr. Davies, you come into my court alleging infidelity with zero proof. Meanwhile, you present a documented history of your own. You show a clear pattern of harassment towards your soon-to-be-ex-wife.” She sighed. “The petition for dissolution is granted on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. Mrs. Davies’s requests are hereby ordered.”
Richard slammed a hand on the table. “This is bullshit! She’s playing you! She’s a—”
“Counsel, control your client,” the judge snapped, her voice like a whip crack.
But Richard was beyond control. The last vestige of his carefully constructed image was gone, stripped away by the evidence and the judge’s dismissive tone. He pointed a shaking finger at Ellie, his voice rising to a shout that echoed in the quiet room. “You think you’ve won? You’re nothing without me! A stupid, talentless hack who’s gonna get used up and tossed aside by that rich bastard! You hear me? Nothing!”
The bailiff took a step forward. Dee’s grip on Ellie’s hand was bone-crushing.
Susan stood up. “Your Honor, given this outburst and the documented history, I move for a permanent restraining order. My client has a right to finality and to safety.”
The judge didn’t hesitate. “Motion granted. Mr. Davies, you are hereby ordered to maintain a distance of five hundred yards from Eleanor Davies. You are to have no contact, direct or indirect. Any violation will result in immediate arrest.” She brought her gavel down. “This court is adjourned.”
The sound of the gavel was a clean, sharp note that severed the last tether.
Richard was ushered out by his mortified lawyer, shooting one last, blistering look over his shoulder. And then he was gone. The room was suddenly, starkly quiet.
Ellie sat there, the legal words still ringing in her ears. Granted. Ordered. Adjourned. It was over. Really, truly over. The shaking started in her knees and worked its way up through her core.
“You okay?” Dee whispered, her own eyes bright with furious tears. “You did it. You stood there and you let that bastard hang himself.”
Ellie nodded, unable to speak. Susan gathered her papers, a small, satisfied smile on her face. “He played right into it. The judge had already read the file. That performance just sealed everything. The restraining order is rock solid.”
They walked out of the courtroom into the quiet hallway. The afternoon light streamed through the high, dusty windows, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. It felt like crossing a threshold into a different world, one that was lighter, the air easier to breathe.
Jace was leaning against the wall opposite the doors, having respected her wish to face this part alone. He pushed off as they emerged, his eyes scanning her face, reading the tremor in her hands, the slight daze in her expression. He didn’t ask what happened. He just opened his arms.
She walked into them, burying her face in the soft cotton of his shirt. He held her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head. No grand words, no celebration. Just a solid, unwavering presence. The anchor she’d needed in the storm.
Dee gave a watery chuckle. “I need a drink. A big one. And you,” she pointed at Ellie, “are paying with your freedom.”
Later, the three of them sat in a corner booth at a quiet pub, the legal papers stuffed in Ellie’s bag under the table. Dee was halfway through a margarita, recounting Richard’s face with vicious glee. Jace listened, his arm resting along the back of the booth behind Ellie, his thumb absently tracing circles on her shoulder.
“The funniest part,” Dee said, leaning in, “was him calling you a gold-digger. While his own bank statements look like a crime scene.”
Ellie sipped her club soda, the adrenaline finally receding, leaving a deep, settled calm in its place. “He never understood,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “It was never about money. It was about peace.”
Jace’s hand stilled on her shoulder, then gave a gentle squeeze.
Dee’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, grimaced, and stood up. “Ugh, sitter emergency. One of the kids flushed a ‘science experiment.’ I gotta run.” She leaned down and hugged Ellie hard. “You’re free, honey. Remember that. Don’t let any of his poison stick.” She gave Jace a pointed look. “You take her home. Actually, take her somewhere that isn’t home. Celebrate.”
After she left, the silence between them was comfortable, filled with the low hum of the pub. Jace turned to her. “So. Celebratory non-home destination. Any requests?”
Ellie looked at him, really looked at him. At the quiet strength in his face, the understanding in his eyes. He hadn’t charged in. He hadn’t fought her battle. He’d just been there, waiting on the other side of the door. She thought of her studio, of the finished willow tree mural, of the little leaf she’d added. She thought of Geraldine Hinkle’s preserves still on her shelf, of the new proposal taking shape on Jace’s desk. A life, being built. Not a fantasy, but something real, with paperwork and complications and mornings waking up together.
“Actually,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face for the first time that day, genuine and unburdened. “Take me home. Our home. I want to finish that mural. And then I don’t want to be anywhere else.”