Chapter 4 - The Shield of the Law
Michael’s house was a modest, sturdy ranch-style home in a quieter, more rural part of Delaware County, north of Columbus. It sat on two acres of land surrounded by tall, old oak trees that had already dropped their gold and red leaves for the winter.
The guest room was already prepared. Michael had set up a small desk for Leo's schoolwork and a basket of fresh towels on the bed. Buster immediately claimed a spot on the rug in front of the brick fireplace, his golden fur catching the light of the fire Michael had built to warm up the house.
After Leo was settled in his room, playing a video game to distract himself, Michael sat me down at his heavy oak kitchen table with a hot cup of tea.
"We need to move fast, Clara," Michael said, his expression serious. "Daniel is an accountant. He knows how to move money, and he knows how to play the system. He's going to try to starve you out financially. We need to get a lawyer, and we need to get a protection order today."
He was right. Daniel had always controlled our finances. I had a small bank account with a few hundred dollars from my freelance writing work, but the joint savings, our retirement accounts, and the house were all in his name or managed under his firm's accounts.
"I don't know any lawyers, Michael," I said, my voice shaking slightly as the reality of my situation began to settle in. "The only lawyers I know are Daniel's friends from the country club."
"I do," Michael said, pulling out his phone. "A friend of mine from the union works with a family law attorney named Sarah Jenkins. She specializes in domestic abuse cases and high-conflict divorces. She's tough, she's smart, and she doesn't take any corporate bullshit. I already called her this morning while you were packing. She's expecting us at two."
At 1:30 p.m., we drove into downtown Columbus.
Sarah Jenkins’ office was located in a restored brick building in the German Village neighborhood. It was warm, filled with books, and smelled of old paper and coffee. Sarah herself was a woman in her late forties with sharp, intelligent eyes behind round tortoiseshell glasses.
She didn't flinch when she saw my face. She simply pulled up a chair, sat directly across from me, and took my hand.
"Clara," she said, her voice steady and reassuring. "You are safe here. Everything you tell me is confidential. We are going to protect you, and we are going to protect Leo. Tell me what happened."
For the next hour, the floodgates opened.
I told her about last night. I told her about the slap, the shove against the counter, the names he called me. But then, as she prompted me gently, I began to tell her about the rest of it. The years of isolation. The way he had taken my name off our joint credit cards after I quit my full-time teaching job to take care of Leo. The way he would lock me out of the house in the winter for "talking back," forcing me to sit in my car until he decided I was sufficiently apologetic. The time he had thrown a coffee mug at my head, missing me by inches, leaving a chip in the drywall that he had made me patch and paint myself.
Sarah listened silently, her pen flying across her notepad.
"We have more than enough for a temporary protection order (TPO)," Sarah said, her voice turning crisp and professional. "I'm going to file the petition with the Franklin County Court of Common Pleas immediately. Because there is a history of physical violence and clear evidence of current injury—" she gestured to my face "—the judge will sign it today. This will legally bar Daniel from coming within 500 feet of you, Leo, Michael's home, and Leo's school."
"What about custody?" I asked, my heart clenching. "Daniel will fight for Leo. He'll do it just to hurt me."
"We will request temporary sole custody as part of the protective order, citing the domestic violence," Sarah explained. "In Ohio, a TPO can include temporary custody provisions to protect the child from the unstable environment created by the abuser. We will also request that Daniel be ordered to pay emergency child support and spousal maintenance."
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"He'll fight it," I whispered.
"Let him," Sarah said, a cold, confident smile spreading across her face. "He’s an accountant, Clara. He thinks in terms of assets and liabilities. Right now, he is a liability. We are going to freeze his ability to hide assets, and we are going to make him pay for what he's done."
