That was all.
Enough time for Marcus’s team to regroup.
Enough time for Claire to text our investigator.
Enough time for me to walk toward the hallway water fountain because pregnancy turns thirst into a commandment.
The courtroom emptied in clusters.
Bennett stayed near the defense table, phone pressed to his ear.
Marcus followed me into the hallway.
Savannah followed him.
So did Paul Haskins, but at a distance.
The hallway smelled like floor wax, old paper, and rain.
A young mother sat on a bench near Family Services with a toddler asleep in her lap.
A man in work boots argued softly with a parking ticket clerk.
Two law students whispered near the bulletin board.
Ordinary lives.
Ordinary trouble.
Then my husband caught my elbow.
Not hard.
Just enough to remind me he was used to ownership.
“You need to stop,” he said.
I looked down at his hand.
He removed it.
Good boy.
“You’re losing control of the room,” I said.
His nostrils flared.
“You think this is control? Dragging private business into court? Embarrassing me?”
“You embarrassed yourself.”
Savannah laughed.
“You really think you’re winning because some judge asked a few questions?”
I looked at her.
Really looked.
At the glossy hair.
The flawless makeup.
The delicate diamond pendant I recognized because the charge had appeared on my AmEx before Marcus moved her to a separate card.
Underneath all that shine was fear.
Not guilt.
Fear.
There is a difference.
Guilt cares who got hurt.
Fear cares who found out.
“Savannah,” Marcus said.
But she stepped closer.
“You know what your problem is, Emily? You think being pregnant makes you untouchable.”
I said nothing.
She lowered her voice.
“You’re not special. You’re just first.”
The words slid under my skin.
Not because they were clever.
