Lila’s P.O.V
The courthouse hallway smelled the same as it had two weeks earlier—stale coffee, floor wax, and the faint metallic tang of anxiety that never quite left the air. I sat on the same bench outside Courtroom 4B, knees pressed together, hands clasped so tightly my knuckles showed white. The kids were with Diane again; she’d taken them to the children’s play area downstairs with strict instructions to keep their phones off and their minds on coloring books. I didn’t want them anywhere near this room today.
Today wasn’t about Ethan.
Today was about Damien.
My lawyer, Ms. Rivera, sat beside me flipping through a thin folder of documents. She’d spent the last month gathering everything: birth certificates listing Damien Voss as father on all three, bank statements showing zero de
