They found the second notebook in my closet. I had hidden it, but not well enough. Dad had been through my things before, looking for the blue notebook years ago, and now he was doing it again. But this time, Diana's lawyer had a subpoena. Anything I had written was evidence.
They found it. And that was the problem.
Because in the second notebook, I hadn't been careful. I had written things that weren't facts. I had written things that were anger. I had written I hate her. I had written I wish she would disappear. I had written if she dropped dead tomorrow, I'd smile.
I had written those things when I was eight. When I was nine. When I was ten. They were the words of a child who was hurt and scared and alone. But to a courtroom, they looked like something else.
"Your Honor," Alan Cross
