The back doors opened.
A small girl in a yellow cardigan stepped inside, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit to her chest. She blinked under the courtroom lights, searching the rows. When her eyes found her father, she froze.
Emma gasped.
It was Lily.
Daniel’s six-year-old daughter.
Emma had believed Lily was at school. Daniel had insisted she was too sensitive to be anywhere near the hearing. He said children should be kept away from adult conflict. He said she was safe.
And yet there she stood — red-cheeked, tearful, and tiny in a room that suddenly seemed far too large for her — looking at her father like a child who had carried a secret for too long and had finally decided she could not carry it anymore.
Judge Whitaker softened her voice.
“Lily, you are not in trouble. Do you understand?”
Lily nodded, twisting the rabbit’s worn ear between her fingers.
