On the day of the trial, it was snowing in London.
The courthouse entrance was swarming with reporters. When Shirley was brought in, she kept her head down. Her hair was cut shorter than last time, and her face was even thinner.
Felix sat in the gallery. His mother wasn't there. Word had it she was sick, though others said she was just too scared to show up.
My lawyer submitted the evidence—the fake infertility diagnosis, the assisted reproduction power of attorney, the transaction records for the paid trolls, the wedding backup plan, the anonymous whistleblower emails, Shirley's post-surgery evaluation report, and her signed plea confession.
Every single document was displayed on the screen, clear as day.
The judge asked Shirley, "Defendant, do you have any objections to the evidence
