Not since Marcus had slowly, methodically pushed my family out of my life, mocking their “small thinking,” scheduling holidays over corporate retreats, intercepting messages, convincing me I was a burden, until I stopped calling and Sam became a ghost I carried quietly in my chest.
“Order,” Judge Rowan said, but his voice shook.
Marcus straightened, confidence unbroken. Elara smirked.
Then the judge leaned forward slightly, eyes never leaving me.
“Bailiff,” he said, his tone suddenly quiet and dangerous. “Close the doors.”
The heavy wooden doors swung shut with a final, resonant thud, sealing the courtroom and cutting off the hallway noise like a blade falling, and the bailiff moved to stand guard, hand near his radio, as tension thickened in the room.
Marcus’s smile faltered for the first time.
“Your Honor,” he began smoothly, “we’re here for a straightforward dissolution. My wife is… emotional. Pregnancy hormones, as you can see.”
Judge Rowan’s gaze snapped to him, cold and precise.
“Do not speak about her body.”
