He wasn’t composed.
He was shouting.
Not at me.
At Harper.
The audio crackled for a moment, then his voice filled the courtroom—sharp, cutting, unmistakable.
“Stop crying,” he snapped. “Do you have any idea how much stress you cause? If you tell your mother about this, you’ll ruin everything. Do you want that? Do you?”
A collective intake of breath swept the room.
Harper’s small voice followed, shaky and terrified.
“I just wanted Mommy…”