Michelle shakes her head, voice cracking. “I’m budgeted down to every fucking dime and you know it. You know I can’t afford it, Bette.”

“Not my fucking problem,” Bette says flatly, reaching for the driver’s-side handle.

“Wait.” Michelle steps closer, instinctively blocking the door.

Bette’s head tilts. Her voice drops quietly. “Michelle. Get your ass out of my way.”

Tears spill freely now. “What am I supposed to do?” Michelle whispers. “That’s thousands of dollars—I don’t have that. You know how much my mortgage is. You helped me get that house. You even helped me some months—”

“And that shit stops too,” Bette cuts in, venom sharp. “Completely. So, I’d suggest you start figuring something else out.” She nods once toward the car. “Now move.”

Michelle stares at her like she’s seeing her for the first time. “You’re really gonna do this? This doesn’t just affect me. What about Mickey? What about him having a nice place to live. We agreed that he deserved a yard—”

Bette laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just disgust. “See? That right there,” she says, stepping closer, invading Michelle’s space. “That manipulative bullshit is exactly why we’re standing here. You did this. You changed the dynamic of our co-parenting.” She points to herself. “My responsibility is to our son. And he will always have everything he needs. But you?” Her finger lowers. “You are not my obligation. I don’t give one iota of a fuck how you deal with the mess you created.”

Bette leans in, voice deadly calm. “I warned you not to fuck with me when it comes to Mickey. I told you that there was no going back if you did this shit….” She jabs a finger back toward the courthouse. “You dragged me into open court, accusing me of damaging our child emotionally all because you were jealous and pissed off. That told me exactly how I need to move with you from now on.”

Bette’s eyes burn. “So, hear this clearly. I don’t care, Michelle. About your needs. About your problems.”

Michelle gasps, knees buckling slightly as she meets Bette’s stare, unflinching, ruthless.

“From now on,” Bette continues, voice cold as steel, “if it doesn’t concern our child, don’t approach me. Don’t call me. And don’t you ever show up at my home unannounced again—or I’ll be filing the next suit.” She holds up her hand, palm flat, as if pushing Michelle out of her life forever. “I have nothing left for you—no love, no respect, no sympathy. You’ve managed to squeeze every ounce of emotional attachment I ever felt for you out of me. There isn’t one drop left…”