MILLIE'S POV
The courtroom felt different from Martha's hearing.
Colder. More oppressive. Like the weight of twenty-one years of injustice pressed down on the vaulted ceiling, making it harder to breathe.
I sat in the front row between Callie and Braham, my hands clasped so tightly in my lap that my knuckles had gone white. Behind us, I could hear the rustle of reporters, the whisper of spectators who'd come to watch my stepmother finally face consequences.
"All rise," the bailiff announced. "The Honorable Judge Dominic Johnson presiding."
We stood as Judge Johnson entered—a man in his forties with sharp, assessing eyes that seemed to see straight through any bullshit. Will had warned me he was tough but fair, with zero tolerance for games.
Perfect.
"Please be seated," Judge Johns
