Melinda’s POV
The courtroom was silent when River stood.
They wore black — not dressy, not sloppy — just enough to say I know what this is and I came anyway.
Their hands were tucked into their jacket pockets.
Their hair was tied back.
Their chin was lifted.
They didn’t look at me.
They didn’t look at the O’Connor rep.
They looked at the judge.
And said:
“I don’t want anyone deciding what my life should look like. Not yet. Not like this.”
There was a pause.
Then the judge leaned forward.
“River, do you object to the trust being formed on your behalf?”
“I don’t know what it really is,” River said. “But it feels like a leash.”
The O’Connor lawyer shifted in his seat.
“And Ms. Holt?”
“She didn’t ask for anything,” River said. “She just gave me… pieces. Of my mom. Of a story no
