How Much Does A Custody Battle Cost On Average?

Blaire Quincy has dedicated the past few years to being the perfect wife, loving one man and one man alone. Jacob Sylvan. But at the end of the day, he chose another. Betrayed by her entire family and one true love, the truth became glaring to Blaire and fed up of everything, she declared for a divorce and isolated herself. Years later, she reappeared but what they never expected was that she was no longer the Blaire Quincy they once knew.

On seeing Francesco’s name, I temporarily forgot all about my cramps and swiftly answered the call.  “You are so hot, it’s fucking insane. I just can’t seem to get enough of you, April.” Francesco growled, and my eyes widened into the size of saucers.  “Ugh, i-it just won't go all the way in, should we try a different position?” April moaned, which made me cough out a joyless laughter.  “Maybe you should stop moving and let me do the work, baby,” My husband replied, and I huffed mirthlessly. + Josephine Perkins used to believe happy endings existed only in fairytales until she met Francesco De Luca, her angel in human form. However, when she’s diagnosed with infertility three years into their marriage, Francesco’s attitude changes toward her completely and she becomes miserable. Her despondency is further heightened when she finds out about his other woman. One day while Francesco is with his other woman, she surprisingly has a miscarriage and nearly bleeds to death. Having had enough, Josephine divorces him amidst several obstacles. Five years later they meet again, when Francesco’s company is about to get taken from him and Josephine has now become a renowned lawyer. Will Josephine put aside their past differences and help him keep his company? What more when a new man shows up to win Josephine’s heart, will Francesco ever get a second chance to make amends?

The seventh time Dante Moretti served me divorce papers, I was sitting with my son in a cheap diner on Chicago's South Side. I forced a smile and brushed my hand over my son's hair. "Just wait a little longer, sweetheart. This time, Mommy will get custody of you." He stayed quiet for a long moment. Then he looked up and asked, “Mommy, how much do you need to sell me for before you're happy?” Before I could answer, he pulled a handwritten divorce agreement from his backpack and pushed it toward me. "I know you keep fighting Dad for me because you want more money from him." "I wrote the agreement for him. Please sign it. Dad is already tired. Stop making his life so hard." His handwriting was crooked, but every word had been written with care. Dante would give me three million dollars. At the bottom, in my son's childish scrawl, was one more line. [After you take the money, don't bother me, Dad, and Serena anymore. Let us be happy.] Serena was Dante's childhood sweetheart. The woman he trusted more than his own wife. For five years, I had stood against Dante's family, his lawyers, and half the Chicago underworld just to keep custody of my son. For him, I would've walked away with nothing. But the child I had raised for eight years had already chosen another mother. So why shouldn't I give their perfect little family exactly what they wanted?

Chelsea Fischer's childhood sweetheart, Patrick Goldstein, loves fighting with me over everything. After I get reborn, I realize that I can never win against Patrick. So, I decide to attach price tags to everything I own. Since Patrick loves taking over Chelsea's front passenger seat under the guise of getting carsick easily, I slap a price tag onto the front passenger seat immediately. "That'll be 100 thousand dollars per year. If you decide to continue the subscription, you'll get a 20% discount." Patrick has his eye on my project proposal. As soon as Chelsea knocks on my office door, I say to her without even looking up, "Wire me 500 thousand dollars, and I'll change the project lead's name to Patrick's as soon as I receive the money." On the day of my daughter Callista Hammond's birthday, I reschedule all of my work matters so that I can hurry over to the kindergarten to pick her up. But Callista tells her teacher, "He's not my dad. I'm not leaving with him." While we're stuck in a stalemate, Patrick arrives at the kindergarten with the gift I've prepared for Callista. That's when Callista rushes over to hug his leg. "Take a good look, miss! This is my actual dad!" Chelsea is about to provide an explanation to me when I extend a hand to Callista. "Give me five million dollars, and I'll make sure that he gets your custody by the end of today."

For five years, I thought our marriage was solid. Then, my husband, Lionel Franco’s first love, Sandra Howard, posted a photo of a property deed on her social media. The caption read: [Thank you, Lionel, for transferring the house to me.] I stared in disbelief and left a single comment: [WTF?] Lionel called within minutes. “She’s a struggling single mother. Transferring the house to her makes it easier for her son to get into school. It doesn’t affect where we live,” he snapped. “How can you be so lacking in compassion?” In the background, I heard her muffled sobs. Half an hour later, she tagged me in another post.  This time, she flaunted her Mercedes worth over a million dollars, with the caption: [Paid in full. As the saying goes, ‘Where a man spends his money, that's where his heart is’.] I knew he bought it to soothe her temper. But this time, I had enough. I decided to divorce him.

On the third day after our divorce was finalized, my ex-wife, Georgie Anderson, sent me a text message. [Why haven’t you transferred your salary from this month to me?] I thought she was joking. [We’re already divorced.] [So? What does it matter if we’re divorced? You should transfer nineteen thousand dollars from your twenty-thousand-dollar income, just like you did before. The remaining one thousand dollars will be your pocket money. When you were unemployed, I was the one who took care of you. Now that we’re divorced, you’re turning your back on me?] I stared at her text messages and fell silent for a really long time. Throughout our three-year marriage, I gave her nineteen thousand dollars out of my twenty-thousand-dollar salary. She was responsible for "budgeting" our household expenses. However, she spent my money on her civil service exam, afternoon teas with her besties, and even on her study partner, whom I’d never met. As for me, I handled all the house chores—cooking dinner, mopping the floors and doing the laundry. But when I took a little time after work to game, she would yell at me for being lazy. She was demanding money from me even after we were divorced. Her reason was that I might spend the money without thinking. I blocked her number. Three seconds later, she sent me a text message from another phone number. [You’ll regret this. I’m trying to help you one last time.] I laughed. ‘Helping me?’ I thought. Nobody had ever helped me in the past three years.