~ Evie ~
January 17th, nine oh three in the morning, and my hands won’t stop shaking even though the heat’s blasting. Donald’s with Claire at home - she texted me ten minutes ago: “He’s fed, changed, napping like an angel. You got this.” I keep rereading it like it’s a lifeline.
Jack’s right beside me in a dark blazer. His knee keeps bumping mine under the table. Not nervous bumps. Steady ones. Like he’s saying we’re still here, still together, no matter what the judge reads out loud in two minutes.
Across the aisle Marcus looks smaller than I remember. No power suit today - just a plain gray one, tie crooked, eyes red like he hasn’t slept in days. His dad’s next to him, spine straight, jaw locked, but even he can’t hide the twitch in his left hand. They know. They have to know. Two sep
