Chapter 15: The Room Without The Belt
The courtroom was smaller than I expected. No high ceilings, no echo. Just cream walls like our living room had been, a linoleum floor, and a large window that let in cold daylight. I sat at the table on the left with the legal aid attorney. My hands were folded around a manila folder that held every printout, every screenshot from the Memo Savings app, the photos of Sophia's arm, the counselor's note, the bank's freeze confirmation.
Diego sat at the other table in the same dark suit he'd worn to the party. His tie was straight now. Teresa wasn't beside him. She was two rows back, in the same burgundy dress, her pearl necklace on, her hands empty.
The judge came in at nine fifteen. She was a woman in her fifties with short dark hair and glasses. She didn't raise her voice.
"Ms. Veronica Garza and Mr. Diego Garza, regarding the joint Memo Savings account ending in 4821," she said, looking down at the stack in front of her. "And the request to continue the temporary protective order."
She read for a while. The radiator hissed. Sophia wasn't here. She was at school. My son was at daycare. For the first time in a week, I wasn't listening for them in the next room.
The judge looked up. "Mr. Garza, the bank's records show you authorized twelve transfers over eight months from the joint savings to an account solely in your mother's name. Your wife's signature does not appear on any of these authorizations."
Diego stood. His attorney stood with him. "Your Honor, it was family support. My mother needed help with medical bills, and—"
The judge held up a hand. "The form you signed requires joint consent for amounts over five hundred dollars. You marked the 'joint consent obtained' box. The bank has confirmed Mrs. Garza was never notified. That is a violation of the account agreement."
She turned a page. "Further, on the record at the temporary hearing, Mrs. Teresa Garza stated she directed these transfers and understood the funds were from the marital savings."
Teresa shifted in the bench behind him but didn't speak.
"Therefore," the judge said, "I am ordering the receiving institution to return the full balance of thirty-four thousand, six hundred dollars to the joint Memo Savings account within ten business days. Upon return, the funds will be divided equally and transferred to separate individual accounts, seventeen thousand three hundred dollars to Ms. Garza and seventeen thousand three hundred dollars to Mr. Garza. The joint account will then be closed. Mr. Garza, you will be liable for any fees incurred due to the violations."
My attorney squeezed my elbow lightly. I didn't move. I just breathed.
"The court also notes," the judge continued, "that use of a leather belt as discipline against a five-year-old, leaving a visible mark, is not reasonable discipline. The photo and the school counselor's documentation are consistent."
She looked at me. "Ms. Garza, is the child still reporting fear?"
"She sleeps now," I said. My voice was quiet. "She holds her doll but she doesn't hide it anymore."
The judge nodded. "The temporary protective order will continue for twelve months. Mr. Garza may have supervised visitation. Mrs. Teresa Garza may have no unsupervised contact with the minor children until she completes a court-approved parenting class, files proof of completion, and agrees in writing that no object, including but not limited to a belt, will ever be used for physical discipline. Do you understand, Mrs. Garza?"
Teresa stood slowly. Her voice was thin. "Yes, Your Honor."
"Good," the judge said. "We are adjourned."
Diego didn't look at me as we stood. He looked at the floor. His attorney gathered his papers. That was all.
The new apartment smelled like fresh paint and cleaning spray. It was on the second floor, one bedroom with an alcove, a living room with a window that faced a parking lot and a maple tree. The lease was in my name only. The seventeen thousand three hundred dollars had hit my new separate savings account that morning. I saw the notification while I was paying the holding fee.
I carried the black rolling suitcase up the stairs myself. It was lighter now. I unzipped it on the light wood floor of the living room, the same way I had packed it that afternoon at the party, but now I was unpacking.
Sophia knelt next to me in her jeans and a pink sweater. She held the blonde doll in her lap. She didn't clutch it to her chest anymore. She set it upright against the suitcase while she helped.
"Mama, where does this go?" she asked, holding up a folded white shirt.
"In that drawer for now," I said. "We'll get you a real dresser next month."
My son, in his navy t-shirt, was lining up his cars on the windowsill. He pushed one across and watched the tree branches move.
When the suitcase was empty, I folded it flat and slid it into the closet. I didn't need it by the door anymore.
I made spaghetti on the small stove. We ate at a card table I borrowed from my sister. Sophia put the doll in the chair next to her and gave it a piece of bread.
After dinner I ran the bath. I didn't check the clock. I washed Sophia's hair and then my son's. When I lifted Sophia out, I saw her left upper arm in the steam. The red mark was gone. Just soft skin.
At eight I tucked them into the mattress on the floor of the alcove. We didn't have bed frames yet. I had bought new lavender sheets for Sophia. She put the doll right beside her pillow, not under her arm.
"Is grandma coming?" my son asked.
"No," I said. "Not tonight. Not until she's done her class. And only if I say so."
He nodded and closed his eyes.
May you like
I sat on the floor between them until their breathing slowed. The apartment was quiet. No belts in the closet. No banking app to check with dread. My phone sat on the kitchen counter with a new balance and no one to argue with about it.
Sophia reached out in her sleep and her hand found mine. I stayed there in that room, with the streetlight coming through the window and the doll quiet on the pillow, and finally I let myself lie back on the carpet and breathe.
