Part of you is.
But another part, older and sharper, has moved beyond panic into something more dangerous. Clarity. When a person has spent years swallowing truths too heavy to speak, there comes a moment when fear burns off and only bone remains. You are standing in that moment now, and it is colder than rage.
The judge lifts his gavel slightly, preparing to continue.
Then a voice cuts through the courtroom.
“Excuse me.”
It is small, almost polite, but it slices the room open.
Every head turns.
Alma is standing.
Her school shoes are shiny black. Her knees are trembling, though she is trying very hard not to let anyone see it. One of the bailiffs takes a step toward her, perhaps to sit her down, perhaps to hush her before whatever rich-child discomfort she is feeling becomes an inconvenience to the process.
But Alma raises her chin.
